Ghost at Twilight
by FS
Summary: Kudo's lateness and an accident during a particularly long and beautiful sunset triggers a string of coincidences whose consequences Shiho can't foresee. Talking to a stranger who shares the same bad luck when it comes to love, she recalls the story Gin told her when she was a child: the legend of the ghost at twilight...
1. When I finally

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

This is an alternative story to my other fanfic "ENCOUNTER in VENICE" and one of possibilities of what could have happened if Ai had taken the antidote before Shinichi brought down the Organization.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**When I finally...**

When I finally reach the small bench where he is supposed to wait for me, I see it is already occupied by someone else: a young black-haired man whose face is half-obscured by a pair of dark sunglasses, looking a ridiculous sight in the soft light of the evening. Fighting for breath, I let my gaze wander but can't find Kudo anywhere. He must have been caught in a traffic jam like me or — and this is a just as probable case — he has stumbled over a corpse again.

I look about myself and notice to my disappointment that all the benches within view are occupied, mostly by elderly tourists who must have come to look at the cherry blossoms and the sunset, which has begun unusually early and seems to last longer than usual, as I already saw it when I got out of the bus and expected that the sun would have disappeared completely by the time I reached the bench. However, the sky is still tinted by the last lavender light of the setting sun.

Noticing that I'm searching for a place to sit, the stranger smiles and makes an inviting gesture with his hand, indicating the place beside him. My feet are hurting in the new sandals and I'm tired from walking at unaccustomed speed, so I gladly accept his offer with a short "Thanks" and install myself on the bench next to him.

For a while, I only stare at the pond, watch the ducks paddling furiously towards the bread an elderly couple throw at them, glance at my watch, admire the cherry trees and don't say anything to the stranger. As time goes by and nothing happens except that a few tourists have begun to gawk at us, I begin to throw a few furtive glances at the stranger, wondering why he is wearing his huge black sunglasses when the sun is almost gone.

Just when I decide to ask him what he is doing here, on this bench, as he doesn't seem to do anything except look into the water, he turns his face to me and then removes his sunglasses, giving me an amused smile.

"Satisfied?" he asks curtly, in a low, melodious voice.

For a moment, I don't know whether I should regard him as arrogant or impertinent. Probably I would only roll my eyes at his response and interpret it as an aggressive overreaction to my harmless curiosity if his eyes were not smiling at me. He seems to be the popular type with his trim good looks. Certainly he believes that I'm attracted to him, which I'm not.

"I was only wondering whether you're blind," I say testily, annoyed by his self-assured manner and his impolite little remark.

He gives me a wide toothy smile.

"Ah, and I thought you had recognized me."

Now that was an unexpected retort. I look at him uncomprehendingly, try to remember whether I've really met him somewhere, and then decide that I must have because he looks vaguely familiar to me. However, I can't explain how I could have forgotten someone with such a spontaneous and slightly cheeky attitude.

"Did we meet before? I'm not sure..."

This time it's him who looks at me in surprise. Then he smiles, sticks his sunglasses into his shirt pocket and crosses his legs comfortably.

"I'm not sure either. But you do look familiar to me... although I'm sure I wouldn't have forgotten you if we had met before."

If another man had said it, I would have thought he was trying to turn on his charm after insulting me with his breathtaking arrogance. However, from his mouth it sounds natural, more like a statement than flattery.

"Why were you wearing sunglasses at this hour?" I ask, changing the topic.

"I put them on this morning and then forgot to take them off," he says, giving me an explanation which I find unsatisfying and hard to believe. But I usually don't probe into other people's private life and don't intend to cross-examine him now.

"Are you waiting for somebody?" he asks.

"Yes, a friend." I take a glance at my watch. "But I see he is already forty minutes late."

"That's annoying," he remarks sympathetically.

"He is usually never late... But maybe he got into a traffic jam. There was an accident somewhere near here this afternoon..."

"Why don't you give him a call?"

"I don't have a mobile phone," I reply, whereupon he fetches out a tiny black mobile phone and hands it to me.

"You can use mine," he suggests.

"Thanks, but I don't think I should call him. He knows that I'm waiting for him. So I'm sure that he will come."

I don't feel comfortable using the mobile phone of a stranger to call Kudo, especially not when Kudo might be working on a case.

The stranger puts his mobile phone back into his jeans pocket.

"I've never seen you in this park before," he tells me. "Do you and your boyfriend often meet here?"

"No, no, you got something wrong. We're not going out with each other... And actually, it will be the first time we meet here."

"Oh, the first date," he grins.

"It's not as romantic as it sounds," I glare at him. "It's just a game... I told him I didn't have anything to do this weekend because our mutual friends are on a school trip. Hence he drew a map and dared me to hunt for a treasure tonight."

"And the treasures are the cherry blossoms in Ueno-koen?"

"Yes, the sunset and the cherry blossoms. I solved the code, which said I should wait for him on this bench at six p.m. to watch the sunset before we go somewhere to have dinner together... Well, but now the sunset is almost over and he still hasn't come yet. I hope he won't be late for dinner."

He throws a mischievous look at me.

"Now I know why you said that he will come. You know, very few men would design such a romantic game for a friend if they didn't have very special feelings for them."

"Then he must be one of the few men who do. He is going out with a woman he has been in love with since they were six. You can be sure that he doesn't have any feelings for me."

"I'm sorry... I didn't know about the girlfriend," he says, looking uncomfortable.

I sigh and shake my head at him, laughing.

"Come on! We've known each other for a while. If our friends weren't on the school trip and his girlfriend busy training for a karate championship, all of us would be sitting here, feed the ducks and then go out to have dinner together. But since they're away, it's just us two... It's not like I'm in love with him."

"Really," he says, gazing thoughtfully into my eyes. "From the expression on your face when you talk about him, I bet you do."

I stare at him in disbelief, speechless at the matter-of-fact way he talks about _my_ feelings although we've just met.

"But I could be wrong," he shrugs and grins at me. "Appearances can be deceiving. A stranger would think we two are a couple just because we're sitting here together, right?"

"Exactly," I smile back. And even though I feel completely at ease sitting here with him, watching the water shimmering in the soft lavender light while a cool breeze ruffles my hair, there is something on my mind which is troubling me. I have the feeling there is something important I have forgotten, something I have erased from my memory.

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	2. And who are you

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**"And who are you..."**

"And who are you waiting for?" you ask, deciding to probe into his personal affairs without scruple now that he has dared to tease you about your friendship with Kudo.

"I'm waiting for a friend of mine, too," he smiles. "We went to school together and still meet occasionally in this park."

"Ah," you comment with a knowing smile. "To watch sunsets and cherry blossoms?"

He grins and even blushes a little, much to your amusement.

"To have a little walk," he says simply.

"That sounds romantic," you remark.

Whereupon he tells you that the fair lady — a radiantly beautiful woman with a happy-go-lucky lust for life — is happily married to a promising young surgeon who is always busy and probably glad that he takes care of his wife for him in this platonic way lest another man take advantage of the situation. That woman must be irresistible, you think, to have two nice men at her feet whereas you don't have even one. He tells you in passing that he has been in love with her — rather pining after her, you think — for seven years by now.

"When we have time, we meet here. She wanted to come this afternoon, but perhaps her husband has a bit of free time tonight and she would rather spend it with him. She told me I should go home if she doesn't come before sunset. But I think I'll wait for a bit longer. I'm not busy this weekend." He grins. "You see, I'm an optimist."

"You mean you sit here for the whole evening, waiting for hours, just to spend a bit of time with a woman who is married to someone else and who won't come if her husband is home?" You stare at him in amazement. "Doesn't it seem a bit... futile to you?"

Once again you realize that appearances can be deceptive. You didn't expect him to have such low self-esteem. Pining away for a married woman and waiting patiently in a park just to spend an hour walking around with her when her husband is too busy to take care of her seems humiliating, stupid and above all depressing to you. However, the thing which irks you most is that it must seem to him as if you were doing the same thing he does. He certainly thinks you're waiting for Kudo because you're pining after Kudo and are trying to spend time with him whenever possible — grabbing your chance when Kudo's girlfriend is busy training for the next championship.

"I don't think it's pointless because I don't expect to gain anything from it," he protests, kicking distractedly at a pebble. "I only enjoy spending my free time with her, nothing else."

You realize you've touched a nerve. There must have been a friend (or more than one) who had told him the same thing.

"I didn't mean you need to expect anything from it... But isn't it depressing to pine away for someone who is happy with someone else? What about getting over it and looking out for another woman? There must be an alternative."

You pause to imitate his gesture and kick a pebble into the pond just to see what is so fascinating about it. "There is always an alternative," you insist, hating yourself at the same time because you realize how superficial and rude you sound. Your attempt to bring him back down to earth is simply ridiculous because you don't have the right to advise him. You are a complete stranger. On top of that, you're not older (perhaps even younger?) than him, and have made worse mistakes in your life than just running after a person who is in a happy relationship with someone else.

You're usually not so impertinent and hypocritical, you think. Something is terribly wrong with you today. Your nerves have been on edge since you saw that Kudo wasn't waiting for you as expected although he is never late without a good reason. You feel irritable this evening, which is unusual because you've become calm, almost placid, since the Organization was destroyed.

"I know there is always an alternative," the stranger agrees, kicking another stone into the pond. "But I can't think of one... I don't want one."

You smile and shake your head at his blissful ignorance. Your irritable mood has vanished, perhaps because — against your expectations — he hasn't compared the friendship between Kudo and you to the relationship between him and the woman he is waiting for. We're all fools when we are in love, you think, generously generalizing from him to all people.

"Since you told me you're an optimist, I bet you still hope that she will change her mind in the future," you say in a light-hearted tone of voice, showing that you don't take the talk seriously anymore and that he shouldn't either.

"Now I know you can read my mind," he grins, obviously relieved that you have lightened the conversation, which had taken a direction he didn't like.

"Though I'm shocked at so much ignorance, I'm impressed by your optimism."

"So you think it's unlikely that she will change her mind?" he asks, which surprises you because you've expected that he would gladly change the subject of your little chat.

"She is married to another man, isn't she? And since you've met each other for years just to have a nice little walk, it doesn't seem to me as if she wanted to change the situation very soon."

"Imagine this scenario: Perhaps she does love me and just won't admit it to herself because she knows it would complicate things. She was already engaged to him when we met. She loves him, I know, and would never do anything to hurt him. But... Would you want to meet a guy you're not in love with three times a week in a park? For a few weeks, maybe, when you're frustrated with your life and need somebody to cheer you up, but certainly not for five years..."

You admit he has a point there although you think it only makes his situation worse. If she has feelings for him and still chooses to be with her husband, there is nothing he can do to make her change her mind — not that he is trying to take advantage of the situation, he tells you, being not only a former admirer but also a good friend of hers. He seems to have contented himself with the thought that he will be waiting for her on some bench in some park for the rest of his life.

For a while, you two don't say anything but only sit next to each other in companionable silence, watching the wind making tiny waves in the water in front of you.

Then he breaks the silence with a small mirthless laugh and grimaces playfully, perhaps to hide the melancholic expression which has just flitted across his face.

"To be honest, I know that's just wishful thinking... But it's still a very comforting thought."

Even an easy-going guy like him has a face he wants to hide from others, you think, recalling a young magician who once told you that, even in the worst situation, a real showman mustn't forget to bow and smile.

"You had better hope she doesn't love you at all," you remark in a light tone of voice and decide to tell him a story which might distract him from his bleak prospect of a life-long unrequited love. "Your life would be in danger if she loved you. Have you ever heard about the story of the ghost at twilight?"

Usually, you don't act on a whim, especially not when it comes to talking about childhood memories to a stranger. You don't know why you're trying to tell this stranger something you've never told any of the people close to you. It's neither his good looks nor his friendly manners, as you've already met many good-looking, friendly people and have never felt like confiding in them. He doesn't look like a confessor either — not that you would have felt compelled to tell him anything if he had been one...

You simply like his easy-going manner. There is something about him which brings back old memories you thought you had already forgotten. If you were an artist, you would call him your muse although that doesn't really describe your feelings about him... As it is, you will not label him anything and only enjoy his presence.

However, there is something else, too, something about today which is troubling you. Is it because you're sure you have really met this person somewhere? Like Gin, you don't have a good memory for faces although you have what people call a sixth sense. Your intuition tells you there is something about today you have blotted out. But, no matter how hard you try, you cannot remember.

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	3. The stranger doesn't pay

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**The stranger doesn't pay...**

The stranger doesn't pay attention to your words because he has just discovered a small squirrel climbing the cherry tree next to you. A smile steals into his eyes and then slowly curves his lips a second later, reminding you of the smile Kaito gave you two years ago when one of his favourite doves landed on your head...

That was a week before he admitted that he was already in love with someone else and you realized that his love for you was only a spur-of-the-moment passion — the type of feeling one experiences when one talks to a complete stranger one has just met on the train and suddenly feels attracted to them even though one can't explain why.

"Look! It's the first squirrel I've seen this year," the stranger claims, beaming at you. "I'm not really into watching animals, but my... — the girl I'm waiting for — loves to. It's a pity she is not here."

"It seems to me you're really fond of squirrels, too. I don't know why you're trying to hide it."

"I'm not trying to hide it. They look pretty to me — and it's natural to like beautiful things, isn't it? I just can't bear spending hours watching animals at the zoo."

"I must admit I can't either. But a few children can watch them for hours without getting bored."

"A few women, too, but I don't know any man who likes the zoo."

"I do."

"A friend of yours?"

"My ex-boyfriend. He had a strong dislike of fish. I've never found out why."

Although you've hidden your secret trysts with the former Kaitou Kid from all your friends, you don't even try to hide it from this carefree stranger, who has told you — with no apparent hesitation — about his unrequited love. Watching the squirrel as it climbs from one branch to another, stopping in the middle of its movements for some inexplicable reason before it resumes its action, you tell the man beside you in passing that — once upon a time — you had a whirlwind romance with a charming young conjurer, which ended only two weeks after it started.

"Why did you two split up? Not because of the zoo, I hope," the stranger asks, his eyes still following the squirrel attentively. "Or was it the fish?" He grins at the thought.

You smile, watching the squirrel jump from one cherry tree to the next with a single effortless movement.

"It was neither, sadly. He had a childhood friend he had been in love with since they were six... And it seemed that his feelings for her were stronger than his feelings for me."

"The story of your life," the stranger remarks with sympathy.

"I know a lot of people who are in love with their childhood friends," you sigh, as protesting against his implication that you're in love with Kudo for a second time would be futile effort. "Having a childhood friend must be fun. Did you have one?"

"No, I didn't. Now that I think about it... We two would have made a cute pair if we had met in kindergarten, wouldn't we? I'm not sure whether we would have fallen in love with each other as we grew older, but I'm sure I'd have cheered you up."

"Do I seem so unhappy to you?" you ask in surprise. Since the downfall of the Organization, your life has been as peaceful and as happy as it can be. Since Kudo and you don't spend much time with each other anymore after you gave him his antidote and he celebrated it by running to Ran, you've even been spared from the murder cases he always draws to him like a magnet. Your trivial daily problems now can't be compared to your problems back then when you were working for the Organization — when every movement was a matter of life and death and you could be disproportionately punished for a small mistake.

"You don't seem unhappy," the stranger says, his expression suddenly serious. "I think it's because you're too proud to wear a depressed face in public. But you exude an aura of tragedy... It's your ironic smile and your disillusioned gaze, which are at least ten years older than you."

If he had told you these things before you took the antidote, you would have laughed at the irony of his sentence.

"Appearances can be deceptive, you know? There were a few tragic loss... events... in my life a few years ago. But I really can't complain about my present life."

"Was the separation from your boyfriend one of the tragic losses?"

You knit your brows, ponder his question and then slowly shake your head. "Tragic" is not the right word, you tell him, because the time with Kaito had seemed to you like a dream, which was too beautiful to be real. Waking up from it didn't hurt half as much as you had thought it would.

Now that you look at your past crush on Kaito from some distance and compare it to your other one-time loves, you realize that it was probably the happiest romance of your life, certainly owing to Kaito's sweet character and because the relationship was too short to get complicated. No sooner had you fallen in love with him than he fell out of love with you, disappeared out of your life and married his childhood friend a year afterwards, as you learnt from Hakuba, who had innocently asked you whether you wanted to come with him to attend their wedding.

Since you didn't have enough time to get up your hope, there had never been anything like longing, jealousy or other strong and selfish feelings which could have set the scene for a drama, as far as you were concerned.

And as far as Kaito was concerned, you had never been a real alternative to his childhood friend despite his short infatuation with you — which you can admit to yourself without a twinge of jealousy, especially now that everything belongs to the past. You took the blow quite well, certainly much better than he had dared to hope. All's well that ends well, you think.

Occasionally, he would send you a letter, a self-drawn card or a present on special occasions and surprise you with the fact that he has still not forgotten about your romantic interlude. But, since you never met him in person or heard his voice again, you've begun to think of him as a ghost that sometimes visits you by mail and not as a man who lives in the same city as you — a man you can meet again whenever you want to.

You don't want to, however... You never do. You don't want to see him and his wife — who bears an uncanny likeness to Ran — on their way home from the grocery store, when he is carrying huge plastic bags while she is holding his arm. And you know very well that it is not jealousy or the fear of shattering any irrational hopes or illusions, or whatever. You don't nurture any foolish hopes. There must be another reason why you don't want to be reminded of him.

Deep down, you know the reason. However, you do not want to think about it.

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	4. What was the title

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**What was the title...**

What was the title of the story again, the stranger asks you after the squirrel has hopped from the tree and disappeared in the grass.

"Ghost at Twilight," you tell him.

Perhaps it was really an old and forgotten fairy tale or — and this is more likely — only a ghost story Gin had made up to scare you to death. However, you had believed in it for years and had almost expected to see his ghost at twilight some day because you had had a crush on him. Naturally, that was long before he killed your sister and long before you met your sister's boyfriend and fell in love with him. You remember you were four or five — and Gin was your knight in shining armour just because he had beautiful long hair and icy emerald eyes which changed colour with his moods...

In contrast to Gin's, the eyes of the stranger are blue and warm, reminding you more of the sky than of ice.

"If you love a person so passionately and deeply that this love will last for your whole life," you tell the stranger, "you will usually express your love some day. But if you successfully hide your feelings from this person and everybody else, perhaps even from yourself, the subject of your love will die. Between the first and the second twilight after their death, you will meet their ghost for the last time — to say the words you never said when they were still alive."

"Why should you do that after their death if you didn't do it while they were still alive? To give their soul a reason to return to their body? Or to prevent them from haunting your dreams?" he asks with a raised eyebrow and a small, friendly mocking grin.

"I don't know. I've forgotten," you shrug. "To make them come back to life, perhaps. They are supposed to be already dead, I know, and it's impossible to raise the dead. But it's a ghost story, after all," you sigh, noticing with annoyance that you sound a bit defensive.

You begin to wonder whether you are making a fool of yourself and regret your decision to tell him the tale.

When you look at him again, however, you realize that he is smiling at you with a distant look in his eyes. He looks as if he is trying to remember something.

He thinks he knows the story, he finally says, although his version is very different from yours.

"One day, when twilight is three times longer than usual, you will meet the ghost of a stranger who has just died and who you could have fallen in love with if you had known them. You will see them three times during the following twenty-four hours, before they disappear from your life forever. The only way to break the spell and help them to come back to life is to say the right words, which will come to you at the right time if you really want to save them."

"Who told you that story?" you curiously ask with a raised eyebrow. "It sounds rather complicated compared to my version of it."

His friend, the girl he is waiting for, he answers. Thirteen or fourteen years ago, when she was still a child, she met a stranger on a train, a "gloomy young man in black" who told her the ghost story when she asked him to donate something to her fairy tale collection.

"She dreamt of publishing something like _Grimm's Fairy Tales_, you see... And who told you your version of the ghost story?"

"Somebody who... took care of my education... when I was small. Maybe it's the same man who told your friend the story. But I don't think it's an old tale at all. I'm sure he made it all up."

"Maybe it was the same man. But that would also mean he intentionally told two different girls two different versions of his ghost story," the stranger says, smiling again. "Or the original version completely slipped his mind and he had to make up a new one."

He belongs to the lucky type of person to whom words and smiles come naturally and frequently, you think. Very much like Kaito... However, you don't want to think of Kaito again. Thinking of him once a day is more than enough.

"I don't think it slipped his mind. He had a fantastic memory and was very creative when it came to inventing morbid stories. It would be just like him to tell two different girls two different versions of the tale. I'm sure he would have told a third girl a third version, which would have differed greatly from the other two... Perhaps he didn't want to share the original version with anybody."

"So he is a very playful person with a very romantic mind?"

You wince at the thought.

"'Playful' is not the right word to describe him, neither is 'romantic'... But he did have a vein of humour."

"Black humour?" he asks.

You nod although you think that "gallows humour" would have been the better choice of word.

"You don't like him very much," the stranger remarks.

"Not anymore," you admit. Your childish infatuation for Gin had died long before he shot your sister even though the secret affair between you and him lasted until you learned about your sister's death. You've always tried to make yourself believe that both of you had stumbled into the relationship without knowing why — that it must have been the undeniable chemistry between you two which ignited your dangerous love affair despite the fact that you had never really liked each other in the first place.

Now you know that the truth was slightly different although you will forever be denying it, as you can't explain how you could have fallen in love with him... To put it poetically, you had been greatly enamoured with him for no reason at all when you were very young. You had hoped that, some day, you would manage to break through the thick shells of ice with which he had covered himself and see into the very depth of his soul.

Your crush on him lasted for many years during which you thought that the impossible task of your life was not creating APTX 4869 or leaving the Organization but winning Gin's affection and stealing the key to his heart.

You wish you had failed because you did succeed. You did steal his heart and you did discover the real man behind the facade — ironically only after you realized you had fallen out of love with him.

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	5. You really want

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**"You really want..."**

"You really want to hear the first fairy tale I've ever heard? But it's a dark one... Alright, you annoying little brat! It's called 'Ghost at Twilight' and says that, if you love a person with all your heart and successfully hide your feelings from them, perhaps even from yourself, the person you love will die. At twilight, you'll meet the ghost of your love for the last time, which is your very last chance to admit your love to them and bring them back to life. Now I've told you your bedtime story as I promised. What about shutting up and going to sleep at once like you promised?"

"If I didn't dare to admit my love to them while they were alive... where am I supposed to get the courage to admit it to them when they're already gone? And how the hell should I know that they're a ghost and that I should admit my love to them?"

"Haven't your parents told you that you mustn't curse?... But you have a point there. You actually won't know that they're a ghost although you will feel that the day is special. And if you don't tell them about your feelings, they will stay dead, which is how most stories end. It will be better for both of you, anyway. Are you satisfied now?"

"... What are you drinking?"

"Sherry."

"Why are you drinking it?"

"Because I'm tired of the other wines. And this one has always been my favourite."

"Why is it your favourite?"

"Because it simply is. It tastes good, looks good, and I'm addicted to it. It's the only thing that makes life worth living before I get my own Porsche. And now shut up!"

"What is it called again? Your favourite wine..."

"Sherry."

"When I get a cocktail name, can I choose 'Sherry'?"

"Only if it doesn't already belong to another member by then. Otherwise you'll have to kill the other Sherry first... But little girls will only get their cocktail names if they can go to sleep when they're told to go to sleep. Now shut your eyes, just pretend that I'm not here and sleep — for God's sake!"

"But there is a problem, Gin..."

"Hmpf!"

"There is a problem with your story. How will I feel that the day is special... the day when the ghost appears?"

"Now... I've forgotten that part of the story. Hmm... First, it will seem to you as if something inside you had died... But it's not only that: On such a day and on the following day, twilight will be at least three times longer than usual. Sometimes, during this magical twilight, you will have the chance to meet the spirit of a stranger who had just died and who you could have fallen in love with if you had known them... Their ghost will appear to you three times between the first and the second twilight... And you can bring them back to life by saying the right words which will come to you at the right time if you really want to save them."

"That sounds very complicated."

"It is complicated. Just forget it. It's only a fairy tale, anyway... Or remember only the first part to tell it a stupid brat when she asks you for a bedtime story."

"I think I'd want to save them. Would you save them, too?"

"No, of course not. There will always be a high price to pay if you save somebody you could have fallen in love with... And why should I save somebody I only _might_ fall in love with if I wouldn't even save the one I love?"

"What price?"

"You will fall in love with them afterwards. They are your alternative future."

"... That means that, if I saved my love's life, I can't save the stranger's, right?"

"If you met both ghosts at the same time and wanted to spend your whole life with the stranger after saving them, you could save both. But you won't meet both of them at the same time. That would be too much of a coincidence... if your love and your alternative future died on the same day, I mean. No, usually, somebody else's love — who is also your alternative future — dies and returns as a ghost. And during the same twilight, you can meet them, your alternative future... Or your love, who is someone else's alternative future, dies and appears as their alternative future during that special twilight. If that's too complicated for you, just remember that you usually don't meet two ghosts at the same time."

"But if I really meet two ghosts during the same twilight... Will I need to give up my love to save the stranger?"

"Didn't you listen to what I said? You can save both people and then spend your life with the stranger. Of course you could still have an affair with the other guy if you like... But I guess you wouldn't want him anymore because you'd be in love with the stranger instead. You can also only save the stranger guy and let your secret love die. Two affairs cost nerves, money and time — I wouldn't recommend it to anybody. But the probability that you meet two ghosts during the same twilight is as high as being struck by lightning and eaten by a shark at the same time, at least according to my version of the story."

"Are there other versions?"

"There is no story with only one version, idiot. There are always at least three versions of the same story and, usually, all versions are incomplete or even completely wrong. Nobody on earth knows the famous one truth. Only idiots or hypocrites believe in it. But... come to think of it... most adults are idiots or hypocrites, anyway. Don't ever trust anyone!"

"Not even you?"

"I can tell you now that I'm not lying to you, can't I? But, unless you can read my mind, you can't know whether I told you the truth or not. Hence you shouldn't trust me either."

"... Gin..."

"Argh! Don't ever dare to touch my hair again! Your fidgeting aggravates me beyond endurance!"

"What would you do if you met two ghosts during the same twilight?"

"I wouldn't save any of them. Neither of them would appear to me, anyway!"

"Why not?"

"First, I don't love anybody. Second, if I did, I wouldn't keep it secret from them... And third: if there was any dead body I could have fallen in love with if I had known them, I wouldn't want to complicate things by bringing them back to life. Life will be simple if you keep things simple. But I told you that two ghosts don't appear during the same twilight. Remember that and shut your eyes now."

"Gin..."

"I swear I'll shoot your ugly teddy to pieces if you don't shut up and leave me in peace."

"You said that two ghosts usually won't appear during the same twilight."

"What's the problem with that?"

"But then there is no catch in that story. You will never need to choose between your alternative future and your love, right?"

"I'm so tired of this! If you try to find a meaning in such a story, you should try not to take it literally! It's not really about dead bodies or zombies that come back to life! It only says that people with too much common sense and needless moral principles will never allow their unconscious feelings to emerge before it's too late. Having an authentic and real love in this world is impossible because most people are cowards in want of intelligence and fantasy. A secret love doesn't get enough energy to live and therefore will stay a ghost forever. Sometimes fate intervenes and, either way you choose, you cannot win, for example if you really had to choose between two different kinds of love. But I already told you it won't happen, because two ghosts simply don't appear at the same time!"

"So the first part of the story says that people kill their true loves with their cowardice and then can't bring them back to life — while the second part basically says that people should open up and grab their chance when they meet a soul mate?"

"Nobody can give you the right answer if you don't know it yourself."

"... I think the story means that people would have more freedom of choice if they listened to their unconscious and were free from their self-imposed constraints. Twilight is the end of the day, when the light disappears. And you once told me that the darkness is a symbol for the unconscious..."

"Perhaps we should send you to school as soon as possible to reduce your IQ. But you bore me to death because you permanently try to say exactly what you mean. Overly honest people are always boring and helpless..."

"That means you are boring, too..."

"You got me there. But I'm usually not like that... It's all your fault... And I think I've drunk too much. Why won't you shut up and leave me alone now?"

"Have you ever been in love?"

"Never... I've never loved anybody... I simply have too much common sense. True love is only a stupid fairy tale and completely made up by some stupid guy who had to tell a stupid girl a stupid bedtime story."

"You don't even love Sherry?"

"Ha! I'm sure you will grow up to be a manipulative little wicked witch... Fine! I told you I'm addicted to it, which doesn't necessarily mean I'm in love with it. But it's still the closest feeling to love such a guy like me will ever get. You're too young to know what love is, so just shut your eyes now and try to sleep!"

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	6. It seems I have

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**It seems I have...**

It seems I have been sleeping with eyes wide open, staring at the distant horizon while dreaming about something I can't remember anymore now that I've woken up with a start. I can dimly recall that, in my dream, I had been lying in my cosy children's room where I lived twenty years ago (before they moved me to an orphanage owned by the Organization!), snuggling against the ugly beige teddy bear I loved when I was three or four and then carelessly misplaced and lost when I was a few years older. It had turned out that the bear was not a present from my family (as I had thought!) but from some unremarkable member of the Organization who had been working with them and who I had never met because he had committed suicide in one of the Organization's laboratories. And since I didn't attach any sentimental memories to the teddy except that I had once believed it to be a present from my parents, I didn't feel utterly dejected when it disappeared. Perhaps my subconscious had decided to get rid of it to free myself from another dispensable material possession.

The more we dwell on a detail of a forgotten dream, however, the more fragments of that dream we suddenly remember — although we can never be sure whether we really remember what we have dreamt or whether our fancy only played a trick on us by filling the most significant gaps with products of our own wishful thinking.

The flickering light of a candle dancing in a glass of reddish-brown wine, the diffused light of a full moon breaking through the patterns of the transparent blinds, casting stripes of blueish shadows on the ochre sheets of the bed; Gin's smooth, silky hair between my fingers; his expensive eau de toilette mingling with the smell of fresh tobacco; the mellow tone of his deep voice and his slightly slurring speech when he was intoxicated... I recall that there had been many nights like that one, long ago, indeed so long that I can't remember what we had talked about or why he had been in my room in the first place. And it startles me that — although I thought I had forgotten that time and moved on — those nights are still hiding in some dark corner of my mind, forcing me to relive the past in a dream which has felt surprisingly pleasant, almost like a fond distant memory.

During my involuntary nap, which must have been so short that nobody else has taken notice of it, the stranger seems to have run out of pebbles to kick and has proceeded to the low railing in front the pond where he is standing now with his left foot comfortably resting on the railing while he languorously yawns and stretches his limbs.

"I've been sitting here for three hours already," he sighs. "What about a short walk along the pond? I really doubt our 'dates' will still come tonight. And if they come, they won't have any problems finding us because we'll only be walking up and down for a while and won't go far. Besides, you look as if you're cold. A short walk will do you good, too."

"Well, why not?" I get up from the bench. A glance at my watch has shown me that it is almost eight. Kudo is already two hours late and can't expect me to stay glued to this bench and wait patiently for him for another hour as his beloved Ran certainly would have done. Apart from that, I do feel cold.

Hence we stroll along the wide path in silence, avoiding walking in the direction of the temples where it must be swarmed with tourists even at this hour. Although it is already past seven, there is still a faintly glowing band of light in the horizon, I absently note. The rainbow I saw on the way to the park has become so pale that it is barely visible in front of the sky, which looks strangely velvety tonight, which is a glimmering lavender at the horizon and an indigo at the top of the buildings and gradually turns a midnight-blue that deepens the higher my gaze wanders. I recall that, sitting in the bus, I had stared in wide-eyed wonder at the sunset, thinking that it was the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen, indescribable with its rich pink, orange, gold, green and blue running softly into each other like the first transparent washes of colour on an exquisite piece of Chinese silk. I had almost expected that Kudo and I would miss it just as we had missed many other sunsets before. And now that my fear has turned out to be justified, as I came late and Kudo hasn't come at all, I have the sneaking suspicion that we will never manage to watch a sunset together because either of us will always be late or will not come.

Despite the pouring rain this morning, the pavement and the wooden bench the stranger and I have been sitting on are completely dry owing to the fierce sun and the warm, strong wind blowing this afternoon. Now that the sun is almost gone, the wind has become chilly and light although a few breezes are still strong enough to ruffle the surface of the water and the hair of the people walking past us. The leaves of the ginkgo trees are rustling melodically as their branches move slowly to and fro in a fantastic dance, waving with ghostly arms at us when we pass by.

As it strikes me that the stranger's hair barely moves in the wind, I take a closer look at his hair and notice that the short locks behind his ears have obscured the fact that his hair is long in the middle and neatly held together by a broad satin band.

"The man who told me the story about the Twilight Ghost had long hair and a ponytail, too, when he was seventeen or eighteen," I say, thinking that one substantial difference between Gin and this stranger lies in the fact that Gin loved to show his hair instead of hiding it beneath his long coat. He was rather proud of his hair, his clothes and his Porsche and treated them with meticulous care whereas the man next to me seems to be the kind of person who would handle a dinner jacket with the same attention he treats an old pair of jeans.

"You don't like him anymore, you said... So you mean you once liked him very much?" the stranger asks, fixing my eyes with his expectantly. "Was he only a childhood crush or was there something more than that between you two?"

"How on earth did you come up with that theory?" I ask, trying to sound exasperated in the hope that he will not probe into my personal affairs any further. However, he only gives me an amused look and I smile in reply, giving up the facade. His childlike directness is infectious.

"I thought you wouldn't dislike him so much if he had only been your unrequited childhood love," he simply states. "People tend to idealize those feelings afterwards, when everything belongs to the distant past, and you don't seem to be the resentful type to me... There must be a reason why you loathe the man so much."

"I only wonder why you're so sure I had ever idolized him or had had a crush on him in the first place. He could have been a mentor or a friend who disappointed me, couldn't he?"

He stops short in his track and turns to raise his brow at me, his lips curving into a small, victorious, self-satisfied smile. It seems he has an extensive collection of smiles which are always available to him when he needs them.

"You look as if you despise yourself for the things that happened between you and him. It's not hard to read your face, you know. Your thoughts are flitting across your eyes so quickly that I get the feeling they show up on your face as soon as they cross your mind. Don't frown just because I dared to tell you the truth."

I laugh.

"You are the first person who tells me that. Other people often complain that I'm something of an enigma."

"Then today you must be very different from other days. Anyway... I wonder how you became involved with a man so much older than you. It's not that I mind the difference in age. I'm only curious."

"He was not so much older than me," I protest, "only fourteen years or less."

Now I am painfully aware that this was an unfortunate slip, as fourteen years are quite a remarkable number in a world where mentors are not supposed to have affairs with their young protégés and where girls are supposed to know the real age of their lovers and seldom content themselves with a fake birthday and a code name. The stranger must have noticed my blunder, too, judging from the alert, strangely knowing look on his face.

"How did it end?" he asks, elegantly leading our conversation away from the dreaded question of Gin's real age.

"Badly. I fell in love with someone else... He noticed it very quickly and began to show me a few sides of his I didn't know before. We never split up officially. But we both knew when it ended."

There it is, the whole tragic and ugly thing beautifully wrapped up as a tiny package easy to swallow... Hearing my own voice casually talking about it, I can almost deceive myself into believing the pretty lie that it had been really a normal love affair like many other love affairs: ignited by curiosity and a somewhat superficial attraction, burning with the intensity of an inferno for a short while to be snuffed out by a breeze in the end, leaving nothing but — first glowing and then cold — ashes and a few other unrecognizable remnants that turn to dust as time goes by.

"Oh, so that is how you fell in love with the conjurer, the one with the phobia about fish," the stranger exclaims gleefully, beaming at me. And I am suddenly reminded of Kudo who had often used the same ringing, airy tone when he tried to cheer me up.

"No," I grimace playfully. "I fell in love with my sister's boyfriend. It sounds awful, I know, but I couldn't do anything about it."

Having told this stranger almost everything about my love life, I see no reason to lie at him when it comes to Dai. I will never see him again, anyway, which makes it easier for me to dump all the memories of my past loves on him and get rid of them all at once.

"Don't flatter yourself. It doesn't sound so awful at all although I must admit you do have a talent for getting into trouble," he grimaces, mimicking me.

"Says the person who is waiting here for the wife of somebody else," I wickedly remark.

"Let's agree that we share the same luck when it comes to love," he smiles cordially and offers me his arm, which I take in a daze, not quite sure what to think about his behaviour until it dawns to me that he must be spending a lot of time abroad, judging from his clothes, his shoes, his odd hairstyle and the familiarity with which he treats a woman he has never met before. The remarkably regular and straight features of his face, his azure eyes and his fair complexion point towards some European ancestors. And from his flawless Japanese and his chivalrous but easy-going manners when it comes to women, I guess that he has had a conventional European upbringing among Japanese people or has attended a Japanese school while spending a considerable amount of time with Italian or French teenagers.

However, I am neither Holmes nor Kudo and tend to misinterpret my observations as soon as I make them. Knowing that deduction is not my forte, I would rather stick to my habit of observing my surroundings without trying to come to a conclusion — especially when a conclusion is of little or of no importance.

A few people turn to gape at us as if there were anything unusual about a pair walking arm in arm along Shinobazu no ike on Friday evening and don't even stop when I wheel around to meet their eyes. Their impertinent, unconcealed stares slightly irritate me whereas they bounce off the stranger like water off a duck's back. Judging from his relaxed appearance, he takes as little notice of the other people as if they weren't here at all.

Some of the azaleas, which have begun to blossom unusually early this year, are already in full bloom, giving off a fragrant, delicious sweet smell. Their distinctive, overwhelming scent reminds me cruelly of the night in spring three years ago when I was sitting at the window of my new apartment, staring at the blazing red, at night blueish-grey shimmering azaleas in front of the gate, waiting for Kudo in vain because he had forgotten me in Ran's presence.

The stranger, on the other hand, doesn't seem to connect any unpleasant memories to the fragrance of azaleas in full bloom. To him, they only belong to the "beautiful things" he naturally admires although he lacks the patience to spend time with them. He neither notices that their smell is much stronger than usual nor does he wonder why they are blooming so early this year.

"Oh, we are already out of sight," he exclaims, stopping at a large pink azalea shrub for a moment to smile radiantly at the flowers and then turns on his heels, dragging me along with him. "Although I really doubt that they will come tonight," he continues in a voice which makes it sound like an excuse for disrupting our pleasant ramble to hurry back to the bench.

"I don't know if she will, but I am sure that _he_ will come," I assert. "He will come as soon as possible because he knows that I will wait for him."

Even to my own ears it seems like I were reciting a spell which sounds a bit forced — as if this witch doesn't really believe in her own charm.

"Perhaps he will," the stranger says skeptically and cleverly changes the topic. "Excuse my insatiable curiosity, but you said you had fallen in love with your sister's boyfriend and that you and your first love split up as a consequence. What happened afterwards?"

"Nothing happened... I never had the slightest chance to begin with. I never got the idea of stealing him from her, anyway. You see... I had hoped that she would meet someone else she fell madly in love with and would leave him to me some day, which was not the case."

"What was the case then?"

Betrayal, death, and a murderous grudge which ended three years ago? There is so much I would like to tell him and too little time for me to do so. It might take me a whole night to sort out my recollections and another night to explain to him that there is not only one version of my story but many versions which differ greatly from each other, and that I don't really know which one of them is true.

Whenever we tell somebody _the true story_ of our life, we dig for the few surviving tattered remnants of our past, pathetically trying to piece together the fragments we find in an old, dusty corner of our memory to provide a coherent, believable account of our story... But the reconstruction of the past, no matter how vividly remembered, will not be equivalent to the past itself, as we can only catch a fleeting glimpse of our temporary subjective reality before it evades our perception and withdraws into the impenetrable realms of the past. As a result, the story of our life continuously transforms with each of our new attempts to fill the gaps, to give the vague shadows of our recollections a fixed shape and meaning.

At the beginning of a biography whose title I have forgotten because I only leafed through it once when I was waiting for Kudo in a bookstore, I found an interesting quote by William Maxwell, supposedly taken from his short novel _So Long, See You Tomorrow_, saying that, _"In talking about the past, we lie with every breath we draw..."_

"They split up... but not because of me," I reply after a pause — after deciding to tell the stranger the short version of the story, which is only half a lie. "He had pretended to be something he was not. And when he stopped living that lie, he left her... us."

I am aware that I suddenly sound exhausted and listless. Either the thoughts of Gin had tired me out or I am simply not accustomed to talking about my life.

"What is your sister doing now?" the stranger asks.

I hesitate, not because I'm not sure whether I should tell him or not but because I'm afraid of the impact of hearing myself saying it, as tears have begun to come easily to me since the downfall of the Organization — as if I had to get rid of all the tears I had held back when I read the newspaper Gin had nonchalantly tossed on my desk after informing me of her death.

"She died six years ago," I say at last and am almost surprised how easily the words leave my mouth.

"Ah," he gently replies without asking me how she died. Despite his boldness and flippancy, he seems to feel instinctively when to stop.

"Isn't it unsettling how fast life can end?" he finally says, leading our private conversation into a more general and philosophic direction. "You spend your whole life living only in your own small world until everything comes to a sudden stop. You are gone forever. And afterwards nothing matters anymore."

"Well, maybe you will be lucky and appear to some stranger who can bring you back to life," I grin at him. "_Ghost at Twilight_, you know..."

He smiles enigmatically at me.

"Wouldn't you like it if things like that came true? If fairy tales were real?" he asks softly, in a voice suddenly as enchanting, as hypnotic and irresistible as if it belonged to a magician who was trying to pull me into the realm of dreams.

I chuckle at my own imagination, breaking the spell.

"I don't think so. I don't like witches and ghosts at all. I already have enough trouble with real life... going through these never-ending trials and errors."

"But you don't want it to end either," he says as a matter of fact, flashing a small witty smile at me.

"Sometimes I thought I did," I admit. "But since it will end some day anyway no matter whether I like or not, I might as well try to enjoy it until then."

"That's the right attitude. The only difficulty lies in the question of how to find a way to enjoy it, of course... But that surely depends on one's own creativity. I have set myself the goal of living happily and creatively."

"That sounds really impressive... However, waiting for hours for somebody who doesn't come doesn't seem very creative to me, you see..."

"Oh... it depends on the company you spend the waiting time with," he gallantly retorts, and I'm about to remark that his attempt to flatter me is rather wretched (as he has already betrayed his impatience by looking about himself at least ten times during our conversation!) when I spot a petite young woman and a tall man coming towards us. She is waving violently in our direction while he is busy dodging her flying arms.

"Oh no," I gasp in mock horror. "She has even taken her husband to your tête-à-tête."

"Don't be silly... and I almost thought that they were _your _friend who came with his puppy-love girlfriend. That's how the two of them look, you see."

"How?" I ask uncomprehendingly.

"Boring," he says with a grin.

As they get closer, it turns out that they are not waving at us but at an elderly couple walking behind us who seem to be their aunt and uncle or the aunt and uncle of a friend of them.

Oh dear, Auntie Jenny, we're so sorry we came late, shouts the young woman and immediately begins to unleash a torrent of English curses against traffics jams and ruthless drivers after which she rapidly proceeds to the description of an accident that seemed to have caused another traffic jam:

_Ohhhh... There was such a teeerrrible accident you can't imagine how hooorrrible just because somebody was searching for a ball on the street yes the children lost it and a driver was too fast and hit the guy and somehow a motorbike fell over and another car crashed into the young girl crossing the street and then into the traffic lights which didn't work by the way and so three or four people died or are seriously injured no we don't really know since we didn't see anything but blood oh we only heard it from somebody who heard it from an eyewitness I think of course we didn't see it because we were waiting in the long queue as if the traffic jam wasn't enough no no of course I mean it was another traffic jam and then there was this accident and then we were stuck again until the ambulance arrived and ooohhh there was blood everywhere on the pavement and this ball lying there added to the macabre scene why oh why do these children always play ball on the streets while there are playing fields and the parents really should take care of them if I imagine that I could have been walking over the street just at that moment and wouldn't have been able to react although of course I know I'd have been fast enough to dodge the cars and I'm of course not stupid enough to try to get a ball even if it were lying at my feet but some people are always too nice for their own sake and it's always the wrong ones who die..._

She doesn't pause for even one second or at least slow down to catch her breath but rambles on and on while dragging the elderly but just as energetic people with her to gawk at what is left from the scene of the "teeerrrible" tragedy. Her husband or boyfriend (or whoever he was) clumsily stumbles after them, puffing like a locomotive, his tiny ears glowing pink from excitement. I remember that seeing the bloody ball on the pavement made me feel sick (even though I should be accustomed to blood by now!) and recall that I had passed the street with eyes glued to my feet to avoid glancing again at the scene. To say I'm a rather composed person is an understatement, as I have witnessed enough murders, suicides, accidents and other types of gruesome deaths without my nerves failing me. But perhaps the peaceful life during the past three years has softened me because this time I intentionally turned away and censored whatever I had accidentally glimpsed... certainly not out of embarrassment, terror, or even pity, but only out of self-preservation, out of the feeling that — in my mental condition today — I won't be able to bear it.

Feeling that the arm I'm leaning on is growing tense, I look up at the stranger and notice that his fresh complexion has turned visibly pale. Now he stops dead in his tracks, narrows his eyes to stare into space with a slight but deepening frown, lost in his own thoughts.

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**AN:** The book with the Maxwell quote is "Dancer: A Novel" by Column McCann.


	7. When we return

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**When we return...**

When we return to our bench, I notice in surprise and slight amusement that the sky still looks the same as before we left, as if a magician (Kaitou Kid?) had placed an enormous photorealistic painting of the eight-o'clock sky behind the buildings on the other side of the pond, tricking us into believing that the sun has stopped setting and is now hanging — in a desperate attempt not to disappear before Kudo's arrival — precariously over the surface of the water. A few moths are gathering around the light of the street lamps which is throwing long shadows on the quiet, deserted pavement. As far as my eyes can see, the stranger and I are the only people left at Shinobazu no Ike.

The stranger has been silent since Talkative Woman & Co. departed to gape at the scene of the accident. Although I think I know exactly what is bothering him, I decide to appear ignorant so that he can choose to tell me or to keep it to himself.

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

"No, nothing," he replies and bites his lower lip. "I was only thinking that she has never let me wait for so long. She knows my number by heart. I'm sure that, if she had really stayed home tonight, she would have given me a call."

The talk about the accident has made him anxious about her safety, as people in love often link everything they hear to the object of their affection. Knowing that telling him about the probability of her being involved in that accident is less than one per cent and therefore almost nil would be as helpful as explaining to him that those tragic accidents happen every day without making an impact on our lives, I ask him why he doesn't give her a call instead of waiting for her to call him.

"I can't. She doesn't have a mobile phone," he says, growing more desperate with every passing second. "If she had, I would have called her hours ago."

I sit down on the bench while he stays at the railing in front of the water, his hands hidden in his pockets, gazing intensely at the lavender light in the distance with a mixed expression of desperate hope and fear.

"This sky is driving me insane," he murmurs.

"Why don't you call her at home?" I suggest. "Then you will know for sure whether she has left or not."

"I don't want to talk to him..." he gloomily says. "But you're right. I'm getting rather childish. I'd better call her now."

Watching him fidget with his mobile phone, I think of Kudo, who might be crouching at the scene of the crash at the moment, inspecting the car wrecks and the sketchy outlines indicating where the bodies of the victims had lain. There might have been irregularities in some details of the accident (defective traffic lights or defective car brakes) so that Kudo has been called to solve the mystery — or, more probably, he has stumbled over the scene of the crime on the way to Ueno-koen and naturally stayed there without thinking of contacting me.

"It's me," the stranger says into his mobile phone, pacing up and down in front of the bench. "Sorry to disturb you at home, but may I talk to Odango for a moment?" Undoubtedly, he likes food or at least dumplings, as he refers to his love interest as "Odango" even in the presence of a complete stranger.

The person on the other end of the line seems to say something he has already feared (probably "I thought she is with you at the moment!"), as he turns pale and stammers over and over again: "But no, it's impossible...," "She is not here..." and "No, I've been waiting for her since five p.m. ..."

The other person, however, seems to keep their cool in spite of the stranger's panic. From the bits and pieces I can hear from the conversation, I surmise he is a rational, calm man, who is telling the stranger in a reassuring voice that "it wouldn't be the (first?) time she got lost" and that the stranger shall "call again if she doesn't show up during the next ... (I couldn't hear the number!) minutes" so that they both can go and look for her.

"How can he stay so cool?" the stranger frowns after ending the conversation. "His wife is missing and he doesn't give a damn."

"No, she is not missing," I correct him. "You obviously think she is missing. But, in his view, she has just gone out for three hours without contacting either you or him. I only wonder why she went out although he was home. Didn't you say that—"

"He is home, but he is probably studying, as always. I think she was bored to death watching him reading his books... Hence she decided to meet me instead."

Or she has begun to miss your regular rendezvous, I think, but do not say it as I don't want to give him ideas. On the other hand, his nervousness is rubbing off on me because I begin to understand his tension. There is no reason why she should leave home without heading to Ueno-koen immediately as she knew that he would be waiting for her here unless...

"Is it possible that she has met a friend on the way?"

"Oh, she has an army of friends. But she wouldn't let me sit on some bench to wait for her while she is enjoying a few glasses of ice cream with another friend — if that's what you mean. She belongs to the type who would take her friend with her to Ueno-koen so that all of us could go to the ice cream parlour together afterwards."

"And if she got lost on the way?"

"Her husband already suggested that," he sighs. "But it's not the first time we've met here, you see. I don't understand how she could have got lost since—"

He is interrupted by the ringing of his mobile phone, a familiar melody I have heard before. Frowning, he clicks to answer the call and immediately smiles in tremendous relief.

"You idiot," he says affectionately. "Where are you? I've been waiting for you for hours."

The "idiot" has a high and ringing voice and a clear articulation but a haphazard way of narrating and can obviously talk at a speed which would make it impossible for a foreigner to comprehend the meaning of her words. Being a native speaker, however, I can make out that she had fallen asleep on the way, got lost during her attempt to walk back, and is now waiting for him to fetch her from some street where she is staying at the moment as she cannot figure out how to come to Ueno-koen. And she is — she stresses this fact by repeating it for at least ten times — "extremely hungry."

"No problem," her knight in shining armour says, "I'll fetch you immediately. Stay where you are. I'll find you something to eat."

"She is impossible," he tells me afterwards, laughing. "She fell asleep on the bus and then got lost because she misjudged the distance between the bus station where she got out and Ueno-koen. She is waiting for me at a public phone box now. I'll go and fetch her."

"I told you that there's no reason to worry," I smile, thinking that, when I was younger, I didn't have a sense of direction either. "You should hurry now... since she sounded really hungry on the phone."

I have expected him to laugh, to put away his mobile phone, to say goodbye and then run like the wind to his friend as Kudo after receiving a call from Ran would certainly have done. That's why I'm surprised to see him sitting down next to me and offering me his mobile phone, which I don't take.

"You can give him a call, too, if you like," he says with an encouraging smile.

"No, thank you."

"Just give him a call. You'll feel better afterwards."

"No," I refuse rather curtly, slightly piqued at his persistence. "I'm not that anxious."

"Why not? He has let you wait for," he throws a look at his mobile phone, "almost three hours."

"It doesn't matter. He is probably working on a... on something important at the moment. I don't want to interrupt him."

"Working on Friday night, huh? What's he doing for a living? Is he a barkeeper or a manager?"

"He is neither."

"What is he doing then? If he is probably robbing a bank at the moment, you can invent something else to tell me, of course. Just tell me he is a doctor or surgeon who might have been called to—"

"As far as I know, he is not planning to rob any bank... Perhaps he is preventing people from robbing a bank at the moment, though, I don't know."

"Oh, a policeman," he takes a wild guess.

"No, a detective," I sigh. Some old irrational mistrust and antipathy against the police force prevents me from letting him believe that Kudo is a policeman. It seems the education of the Black Organization did leave some lasting impression on me after all.

"A detective," he says, looking suddenly distant. "I once met a detective... a very famous one. I think we might have got along pretty well if we had only met by accident like you and I." His eyes darken. "But the circumstances were not so favourable then."

I neither ask him whether that detective's name was Mori or Kudo, nor what the "circumstances", to which he has been referring, were like. In exchange — and much to my relief! — he doesn't ask me to tell him Kudo's name.

"What's your name, by the way?" he asks instead, reminding me that we haven't introduced ourselves to each other despite having talked with each other for almost three hours.

"Miyano," I reluctantly tell him. It would have seemed ridiculous to me to hide my name even after the downfall of the Black Organization although I'm not sure whether I want us to meet again.

"Miyano, and?"

"Miyano Shiho."

"Where do you live?"

"In Juuban," I automatically say before the thought suddenly occurs to me that, in reality, this sympathetic stranger might be a dangerous stalker and that I should never, ever, give my address to a man I don't know.

"Juuban," he murmurs, shaking his head with a smile while keeping his eyes on his mobile phone. "Such a coincidence."

Luckily, he doesn't ask for my address but for my telephone number instead. "Ueno-koen is pretty big," he says, fidgeting with his mobile phone to save my number. "We might not meet the next time when our love interests are late again."

Noticing that I hesitate — I've been wondering whether I should give this impertinent stranger my number or not because I've already told him too much about my private life — he gives me another toothy smile (the final one, judging from his expression) and shrugs, putting his mobile phone back into his pocket.

"I often forget my own number as well," he says. "If we had something to write, I would give you mine. But you can easily look it up in the phone directory. I think it won't be difficult for me to get your number either, but I don't want to be a bother... If you're looking for good company the next time you are in Ueno-koen and your Kudo Shinichi is busy solving a case again, just give me a call."

He turns and walks swiftly away before I can recover from my astonishment and ask him how he has guessed that I'm waiting for Kudo. Even if Kudo had been the famous detective he told me about, he couldn't have know that Kudo is the detective I am waiting for. Perhaps he has only taken a wild guess again without knowing anything before observing my reaction to his words. Surely he is grinning to himself now, pleased with himself for successfully playing that prank on me, I think to myself, shaking my head at so much cheekiness, and finally realize that — even if I wanted to call him — I wouldn't be able to find his number in the telephone directory as he hasn't told me his name.

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	8. Now that the stranger

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**Now that the stranger...**

Now that the stranger has left, you finally realize how still the air at Shinobazu no ike has become. Black birds are soaring through the sky without making a sound; the leaves around you are moving so quietly that their continuous rustle sounds not louder than a whisper, and the wind has become so weak that the gentle breeze barely grazes the surface of the water, in which the last light of the sky is reflected.

The only lively things here are the shadows of the birds gliding soundlessly over the pond — dark indigo apparitions sailing across the water like ghostly ships from another time.

Usually, the world becomes livelier as it darkens, you think, as the creatures of the night awaken and the smallest sounds seem powerful in the silence. You remember that you often stayed awake at night and listened to the peculiar, uncanny sounds when you were small. Back then the clouds and shadows still seemed to have the shapes of animals and fabulous monsters, and you feared the darkness far more than you feared the Organization...

From time to time, a ray of sunlight peeps through the pale purple clouds, mirrored by a sometimes white, sometimes golden light flashing up in the deep violet water, and brightens up the world around you until it disappears again as quickly as it came.

Kudo is never late without having a very good excuse, you think. However, this wouldn't be the first time he couldn't come because someone happened to drop dead on his way. Perhaps, instead of sitting here for the whole night, you should go home and curl up in bed with a book and a cup of tea.

But "going home" has lost its meaning since the Professor died. Then going home had meant to return to the house where that mad genius had been waiting for you to make his dinner because he could never cook without destroying half of the kitchen equipment. Sometimes the Detective Boys or Kudo — or even Ran — would visit you two and bring you some biscuits Ran had made. Now going home means to return to an empty apartment and either to cook for only one person or to eat the leftovers on the following day. Cooking dinner — or rather housework in general — has turned into a lonely, tedious and annoying task.

You hate to admit it to yourself. But the older you get, the more you realize that you don't belong to the class of people who can live alone, as your mind is too destructive to be let loose on itself. Without distracting company, time-consuming hobbies, a useful purpose in life or at least some challenging tasks to fulfill, you will stay forever a detached observer of other people's lives while nothing remarkable happens to you. Since Kaito left, time almost seems to have stopped. For you, only the changing seasons and the happenings in your friends' lives mark the passing of time.

No, you think. Perhaps you are never really honest to yourself, not even now.

You remember that you hated creating APTX 4869 and its counteragent. And you're positive you would have hated creating any other drug just as much because you hated sitting alone in dark cellars (no matter whether they belonged to the Professor or the Organization). You hated watching liquids boil, testing deathly poisons on innocent rats and looking like a female version of Frankenstein's monster after two sleepless nights.

Like most young women, you love to be able to walk down the streets showing off your distinctive hair without the fear of being shot from behind. You enjoy wearing bright skirts and dresses and shoes which are your real size as well. Without flattering yourself, you know very well you look like a film star on holiday even without make-up — especially now that the dark rings under your eyes have disappeared completely.

You've always been a vain person, without doubt. Vanity was a character trait whose development the Organization supported and encouraged. The Organization even paid for your subscriptions to various fashion magazines when you were working for them.

And of course you can live on your own because you're a perfectly organized ex-Black-Organization-scientist who was raised to be accustomed to living alone. You work highly efficiently so that — even though you work part-time_ and_ go to university — you could take a second part-time job without overworking yourself. You have nothing to take care of, anyway. You don't even have a real hobby. Like most independent young women, you spend all the money you earn on random unimportant things, which is not a tragedy as you don't have a family who you need to provide for. None of your friends is in need of money either.

You cannot even say you are lonely. Twice a month (usually on weekends) the Detective Boys (sans Kudo, who is always working on a case) drag Ran, Sonoko (who befriended you immediately after the downfall of the Organization, much to everyone's surprise) and you to a shopping centre or to the cinema. You greatly enjoy those meetings and secretly rejoice in the fact that you almost never meet Kudo anymore, as he usually only has time when you are busy and vice versa. No Kudo means no brutal murders and creepy criminals although you must admit there are moments you do miss Edogawa Conan...

You don't have any problems, you conclude. If the Professor were still alive, you would be happy.

A look at your watch shows you that you've been waiting for another hour.

You will wait for another hour and, if Kudo has still not come by then, walk to the scene of the accident to look for him. Being a self-absorbed brat when it comes to solving crimes, he has probably forgotten you again just as he did during your birthday three years ago... It was the same during the first anniversary of the downfall of the Organization even though that time he forgot you because Ran wanted to see him for some purely sentimental reason. Or perhaps he will send you a substitute again like he did on your birthday two years ago when he sent you Kaito as a replacement... thinking that you wouldn't notice the difference...

On the other hand, you know you are a resentful, unforgiving and thankless brat. Kudo has saved your life more than once, after all, so that you might as well ignore his inability to spend an evening with you. You can behave like a grown-up and go home now because Kudo will certainly not come anymore. If he has solved the case by this time, he will have gone home because he will have expected that you've gone home long ago. Perhaps he is giving you a call at the moment, thinking that you don't answer the phone because you're mad at him.

It is difficult to keep your balance because your legs have fallen asleep, and you discover in surprise that there are goosebumps on your skin because you've completely forgotten that the air has become cold and damp and that you've been freezing. Now that you've woken up from your apathy, you also notice that the world around you has become livelier again, buzzing with all the tiny creatures of the night...

A cold breeze blows up your dress, and you bend down to straighten it with both hands...

And that is when you finally notice that your handbag is gone.

After getting over the initial mix of shock, disbelief and anger at yourself, you can feel the old half-hearted resignation and mild annoyance washing over you again. However, the loss of your handbag completely occupies your thoughts now. Your exasperation with Kudo's absence is almost forgotten.

You might not have noticed its loss because the stranger distracted you with his stories and questions. But you've felt all the time that something was wrong, that something important was missing. Luckily, you're sure that your hands were empty when you sat down next to the stranger so that you don't need to stain the positive memories of your pleasant talks with him by suspecting him of stealing your precious bag.

You remember that, just like the stranger's friend, you had fallen asleep on the bus on the way to Ueno-koen. (It was almost impossible not to fall asleep in that weather, in a bus which was working its way through the traffic jam at snail's pace.) When you woke up just in time to get out, you must have forgotten your handbag there. You remember grinning at the young blonde woman sleeping next to you because she had been knocking her head repetitively against the windowpane without noticing. You remember she was still fast asleep when you watched the bus chugging away. But you don't remember where you left your handbag although you're sure you were holding it in your hand when you were waiting for the bus at the station...

You must have dropped it in your sleep. And now your handbag is either still in the bus or the blonde woman has found it... Or — and this is even more probable — somebody else has taken your handbag and left the bus with it by now. Standards have slipped since you were a little girl pining after Gin. Now you can't believe that anybody would return an original Fusae handbag anymore even though it contained nothing but Kudo's map, a pen, your notebook and your briefcase with a bit of money in it.

You're glad you always keep your keys and important papers in your pockets instead of your handbag. Even so, you wish you had left your mobile phone in your handbag so that you could call your own number to find out whether someone had found your bag and would return it to you for a generous reward. You hadn't known how much that handbag meant to you before you lost it. It had been sitting in your cupboard for months although (or because?) it was a birthday present from Kudo.

The hollow sound of heels clicking on the pavement — the rhythm of footsteps oddly familiar and foreign at the same time — interrupts your train of thoughts. Through the lavender light of the late evening, Kudo is coming swiftly towards you, raising his free hand to greet you and to keep his flying hair (which has become longer and messier than you expected) out of his face. Contrary to your expectations, he is not in his usual jeans and jacket but formally dressed in a smart midnight-blue suit and a white shirt with a fluffy collar and has draped a long white coat over his shoulder in a rather picturesque way.

"Thank God," you sigh, amused at yourself because you really mean it. You must admit there is something ludicrously dramatic and theatrical about the whole scene. But you don't really care because you're still trying to analyze the funny feeling that seeing him has taken an enormous weight off your mind.

However, when he comes nearer, you notice the ring on his finger and the familiar but rather un-Kudo-like mischievous glance in his eyes. Then his formal clothes, his huge blue travelling bag and even his ruffled long hair suddenly make sense... And you don't know whether you're more disappointed, glad or surprised — or shocked by the fact that you didn't recognize him immediately the moment he smiled at you.

"A lovely flower for an even lovelier lady," Kaito grins and — pretending to catch an invisible object flying through the air — presents you with a half-blossomed pink azalea. "Although I'd have brought a yellow rose if I had known that I'd meet you here."

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	9. You look indecisively

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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_FS_

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**You look indecisively...**

You look indecisively at the flower in his hand and think back to the first flower he gave you on the goodbye party following the downfall of the Organization, a yellow rose with orange-red stripes matching the colour of your hair, leaving you at loss for words.

With a vengeance, you remember the evening when everything started, when you peeked through the peephole and saw Kudo standing in front of your door. Something had startled you, the stark contrast of Kudo's dark head against the white corridor... or his lips — somehow looking more humorous than usual — curved in a smile which was just a tad too cheeky... or the intense smell of the twenty-two red roses invading your apartment when you opened the door for him. You had felt that something was not right but had not sensed any danger.

"I had been searching for yellow roses everywhere," he had said when he came in, his smile deepening. "But then I saw these and thought they're just as fitting."

Noticing the unfamiliar glimmer in his eyes, you had known immediately, instinctively, that he was not the real one. You remembered Kuroba Kaito's disconcerting similarity to Kudo and, after a short moment of confusion, put two and two together. However, this time, you decided that you liked the fake considerably better than the original, who had been busy working on a new case and again forgotten about his promise to spend your birthday with you. You had been in a particularly bad mood, partly because Kudo had already missed your twenty-first birthday the previous year and partly because you hadn't even wanted to celebrate your birthday before he had mentioned it to you. Nobody had known Miyano Shiho's real birthday except him. You had been oddly touched because he had paid attention to it before he deleted the files on Sherry on the main computer in the headquarters of the Organization. He had even joked that you had to celebrate it, if not with others (with whom you celebrated Haibara Ai's birthday) then at least with him to repay him for what he had done. You had replied that you wouldn't mind treating him to dinner once a year on your birthday if it didn't result in an inadequate ego boost on his side.

The first time, on your twenty-first birthday, he had been caught up in an important case. Naturally, you hadn't blamed him for not coming.

Afterwards, you two were supposed to celebrate the anniversary of the downfall of the Organization together. And again he forgot it because he had been at Ran's place, watching a DVD with the photos and movie clips Sonoko and Ran had taken during the previous Christmas party. That time you had been furious, mainly because you had spent the whole afternoon cutting vegetables and meat for a sumptuous meal you had to eat alone.

The third time, you were positively surprised when you heard the bell. You hadn't bothered to cook although your fridge was a bit fuller than usual, just in case he happened to remember. Perhaps that was the reason you could see through Kaito's disguise at first glance.

Later, during dinner, which you two didn't spend at your place as planned but in Furuhata's bar, a small restaurant above the famous game center of Juuban, Kaito told you that Kudo was investigating the dubious death of a young woman who had been the sister of three celebrities whose names you didn't pay attention to. It seemed that one of the three brothers had pulled the plug to her life support system, which resulted in the girl's death. Kaito, who was an acquaintance of one of the suspects, viewed it as an act of mercy and shrugged off the search for the culprit while Kudo, who firmly believed that no one had the right to decide over another person's life, naturally wanted to bring the case to an end.

One thing had led to another afterwards... a good meal, a few drinks, his story of Aoko, who had gone abroad after the downfall of the Organization (after telling him that she never wanted to see his lying face again), your story of your ex-boyfriend who had stoically carried out an assassination during your very first date, a bit of good music and magical tricks and shared laughs and, when you parted, the first shared kiss. The two weeks afterwards were mostly a succession of pancakes and hot chocolate or coffee in the mornings, overlong zoo visits and comparatively short strolls in various parks during the afternoons, movies in the evenings and long nights spent on the sofa cuddling and talking about future plans. Now it seems strange to you that you two had never talked about the past again after your birthday and spent your nights building castles in the air instead.

Too bad that state only lasted for two weeks, and after the twelfth stroke of the clock — or rather after the arrival of Nakamori Aoko's twelfth letter (they all came at the same time, having gone astray on the way for unknown reasons) — your magician ran away.

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That flower, too, will not live to bloom, you think without a suggestion of real sadness. Nostalgia is a luxury you seldom enjoy.

"Well," you say, "In that case, I won't take it and will wait for the yellow rose instead."

Kaito lets the azalea disappear with a theatrical gesture — although you couldn't see how he did it, you suspect that he is hiding it in his coat — and sighs.

"I should have known you'd never be satisfied with the substitute."

"You really should have. But I'll forgive you if you tell me why you're wandering through Ueno-koen at this hour. I thought you had given up your thievery games."

"I'm hurt to learn I've come down so low in your estimation. I'm not stealing anything, only taking a walk looking for inspiration for my shows next month." A proud smile flits across his face. "My first official, full-length shows under my real name."

"Kuroba Kaito's debut, so to speak?"

"Yes." He flops down onto the bench and gestures for you to settle on the place next to him. "It's much more difficult not to be Kaitou Kid than I thought. I didn't really have to act much back in those days, at least not when I was showing myself as Kid. All I had to do was planning and holding a few sensational shows according to a few set rules: sending an enigmatic notice to the police, disguising myself and impersonating someone else if necessary, appearing on time, stealing the gem without being caught, returning the gem to its owner if it's the wrong one, disappearing into the night without being killed... Whatever I did, I always did it in my own style. Now the rules have changed. And Kuroba Kaito needs a completely new style if he doesn't want his audience to say that he has only copied every gesture from Kaitou Kid."

"Ironic, isn't it... that you need to put on a mask in order to make people believe you're really yourself," you remark.

"You mean I must be a good actor to perform under my real name. But a magician is always an actor at the same time. And I'm always myself even when I'm playing a role."

"Ah, now we've arrived at the complicated problem of identity and role-play in life. It's getting too philosophic for my taste because I prefer to talk about our health and the weather in the first five minutes of our chat."

"No conversation with you could ever stay on the surface," he smiles. "We'd get into deep waters even if we tried to chat about the weather."

"Are you sure? Let's talk about the weather then. Today it's been pretty fickle, hasn't it? Rainy in the morning, sunny in the afternoon, and look at this sunset." You turn your face demonstratively towards the glowing stripe where the water and the sky meet. "Isn't it fascinating tonight? The sun seems to be hanging over the horizon forever and ever."

"I've noticed it, too, although it didn't surprise me. Someone told me yesterday that twilight would be especially long tonight. Long and dangerous."

"Dangerous?"

"Yes, dangerous in a good way. Magical..." He winks at you. "I heard it's easy to lose your heart tonight if you aren't very, very careful."

"Oh, then you should be very, very careful," you imitate his tone of voice. "You don't want to risk your marriage just because of one special sunset."

"No, but in my case it's different. I already risked it two years ago. Such a thing doesn't happen twice." His voice is still humorous although there is a softness underneath the humour, which tells you that he really meant to say what you think he has said.

"So you're out of danger now," you dryly comment, "because you won."

"I'm out of danger now because I lost. We all did in a way..."

To your surprise, his eyes are looking almost wistfully at you, although it might only be a trick of the light.

"I don't know who you mean with 'we all'... It was _me_ who lost. You were the one who left me to get married, if I remember correctly." You cross your legs and fold your arms behind your head, leaning back comfortably to show him that you have stopped caring. "I don't think it was the wrong decision for you, though. I've seen you two together and thought you're very happy with her."

"Oh, we are genuinely happy, as happy as we can be," he laughs. "But..." he adds in the same soft voice which never failed to get under your skin, "... I knew very well before Aoko and I got married that things would never be like they could have been if I had never come to your birthday. Of course I only have myself to blame, not you."

If Aoko-san is only half as pure as Ran, two years will appear for her like too short a time to forgive her true love that he had started a relationship with another girl just because she had told him to go to hell and never come back again — an understandable reaction after learning that he had fooled her and the rest of the world for over three years. You really feel for them. However, it annoys you that he seems to view your delightful two-week entanglement as a tragic mistake, particularly since he didn't even regard his past as Kid as one.

"If you had known so well that your relationship wouldn't have recovered afterwards, why had you gone back to her?" you ask with a shrug. "Wouldn't it have been easier to stay with me instead?" To your embarrassment, you realize that it must sound like a proposal in his vain ears. "I'm not asking you to come back to me."

"I know very well that you're not," he winces. "You don't need to damage my ego by telling me that so explicitly."

His eyes leave your face to gaze past you into the distance as if he were rummaging in a past which had happened an eternity ago.

"I had to make a decision." He looks at you with a trace of sadness flitting across his face. "I couldn't have both of you, after all. If I had stayed with you, I wouldn't have known how to get out of the mess we were in. Leaving you was the best for all of us."

He hesitates and then adds with a wry smile: "I wanted to be loved for myself, not only for my looks and other attractive qualities which might as well have belonged to somebody else."

"I think that was an unjust and totally groundless accusation, really unworthy of you," you say with a raised eyebrow, wondering what "mess" he meant, as the word doesn't really suit the short infatuation two years ago, which had come and left as abrupt as the summer rain. You had not been emotionally damaged afterwards although it had been a bruise to your ego.

"Besides," you continue, unable to fight your bantering mood, "we're getting back to our problem of identity again: If your looks and other attractive qualities — whatever you mean with that — don't belong to yourself, what features belong to yourself then? It must be something you thought that Aoko-san liked and I didn't. But I can't think of anything. If my memory serves me correctly, it was me who accepted your past as Kid, which she didn't do."

"I think you've misunderstood me. My looks and my attractive qualities—" his grin deepens, "— come on, you know I have plenty of them! — naturally belong to me. And Aoko likes them just like all the girls who give me chocolate on Valentine's Day do. But you... you liked me very much because of my resemblance to someone else. You wouldn't have been that attracted to me if I'd had another face and another voice. My disguise that evening did contribute a lot to my success, didn't it?"

The word "mess" whirls around in your head and suddenly makes sense, falling into its rightful place on a puzzle whose picture has become recognizable though still incomplete.

Noticing the look on your face, he gives you an endearing little grin, and your anger subsides as quickly as it came.

"I know being so clumsily honest doesn't suit me at all. But I didn't know it would earn me such a gloomy look."

"I've just realized you're a brainless idiot," you say in a playful voice to soften your statement. But the bitterness you are feeling is still showing through.

He looks slightly disappointed.

"From your reaction, I guess my assumption was right."

"From my reaction, you should have guessed that I'd never have expected you to be such an idiot — and on top of it, an idiot with no self-respect. Why did we ever go out with each other if you thought that I only used you as a replacement for Kudo?"

"I didn't notice it in the beginning. And then I hoped things would still work out, but they didn't. I always had the feeling there was Kudo's ghost between us although—"

"— although Kudo and 'Ran-chan' had already been going out with each other for over a year," you remark in a sharp voice. "That was what you wanted to say, wasn't it? He and I met so seldom you could have counted it on the fingers of one hand. And you really thought there had been something going on between him and me?"

"No, not that... I only noticed that you seemed to prefer him to me, for a reason I really didn't understand. We two look alike, sound alike and are the same age. He is certainly not smarter than me while I'm much more lovable and attractive than him."

"You two even share the same enormous ego even though he doesn't flaunt himself half as much as you do. And both of you are ingenious idiots lacking common sense. I can't argue with you, after all. Even if I told you a thousand times that I didn't go out with you because you look like Kudo, you wouldn't believe me. So let's change the topic."

"Oh, if you repeated it to me a thousand times over, I might believe you and admit that I had had the wrong impression. But, you see..." He makes a dramatic pause before asserting with a wicked grin: "You're only making half-hearted attempts to do it."

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	10. I know you would

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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_FS_

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**I knew you would...**

"I knew you would insist on trusting your own judgment, no matter how inaccurate it is. So let's change the topic now." You give him a demonstratively indulgent smile. "How's your health?"

"It has never been better," he replies without batting an eyelid. "Better than yours, actually. You look completely disheveled and pale."

At least he is flexible, you think, and doesn't insist on continuing a senseless fight.

"Thanks for the compliment. But you'd look the same after sitting here for—" you glance at the watch, "— over four hours, staring at that sky."

"Except that I wouldn't. I'd have left after half an hour. That leads us to the question of why you've been sitting here, watching the sky for such a long time."

You consider telling him the truth and then decide that you'd rather not, especially not after the previous topic of your conversation.

"I was thinking about my pathetic life before you came," you tell him, knowing that it would sound more convincing if you told him a part of the truth instead of a real lie. You've always liked telling the incomplete truth, perhaps because even the whole truth loses its authenticity the moment you say it aloud. At your age, you have learnt that saying the naked truth is a simple but unreliable way to exchange information. Everybody lives in their own small world, makes their observations from their own special angle and uses their own vocabulary in their own way. Most of the time, misunderstandings will arise no matter whether you tell the truth or a white lie.

"So you've been sitting alone on a bench for over four hours just to ponder your life? That sounds like you're having a serious problem with it."

"It would seem more serious if it had been raining," you shrug. For a short moment, you wonder whether you should change the topic. On the other hand, you're really not in the mood to make small talk.

"I'm so sick of living my life the way I've been doing for the past two years... And it's odd that the feeling came so suddenly today, practically emerging out of nowhere. Maybe I should simply take up a time-consuming hobby, like collecting mystery novels — or even writing some."

"Now I get why you told me I'm happy," he says thoughtfully, looking suddenly more like Kudo than ever with his brows drawn together. "You obviously aren't."

"I can't say I'm unhappy either," you admit, turning your eyes away from him. "Life is actually good these days. It sounds ungrateful, I know, but I'm simply bored to death. Nothing really happens to me."

"Are you bored because, without Kudo, you don't stumble across any murder cases any more? Or do you miss the thrill of being hunted down by the Black Organization?"

"No, of course not," you glare at him. "It's the feeling that life will always be the same no matter what I do... It's like a game of cards with people you know too well while having guessed all the cards they're holding. You know exactly how the game will continue after the first round."

"So that's your view on life? Like a card game with rather transparent rules and always the same cards on the table?" he asks.

"More or less... Maybe I'm just bored by myself. After living for so many years with oneself, things are getting extremely predictable." You grin at him. "I've found out that everything in life follows a certain pattern. And once you've grown accustomed to that pattern, things are getting incredibly tedious. I have the theory that Kudo can solve his mysteries so quickly because murderers, too, always follow a set pattern. After knowing so many of them, he must have learnt to recognize them at first glance. Even their methods can't vary that much. There are only so many ways to kill a person."

You suddenly notice that you've talked about Kudo despite trying not to. As always, whenever you desperately try to avoid doing something, you are certainly going to do it in the immediate future. However, Kaito doesn't use your slip against you but only smiles and gets up from the bench to rest his foot on the low railing in front of the pond, reminding you vividly of the stranger you met this evening.

"You sound very much like Poirot," he unexpectedly says, turning round in a swift movement. "Since you mentioned mystery novels, I guess you've been reading a few featuring Poirot recently."

There is a victorious look in his eyes reminding you of Kudo when he points his index finger at the murderer and declares: "The culprit is you!" When it comes to theatricality, Kudo doesn't in the least resemble his idol Sherlock Holmes, who is dramatic in an entirely different way.

"Not recently but a few months ago. Perhaps you're right and this is only a late reaction to them," you chuckle. "I suppose I begin to sound a lot like Poirot with the remark that the patterns of human behaviour bore me... Though, on closer inspection, I think I bear a resemblance to Miss Marple as well. Just wait until I'm am older. I might even take up gardening as a hobby."

He laughs and reaches out an impertinent hand to ruffle your hair.

"I've read a few Marple novels, too, and you're not like Miss Marple at all. But you're right, in a way. People are usually terribly predictable. That's why the normal course of events is so easy to predict after knowing the situation where everything starts. I don't think it's a bad thing, though. I'd never have succeeded as Kid if I hadn't known how other people's minds work. It's easy to pull the wool over the eyes of your audience if you know the rules and can use them to your advantage."

"I know you belong to the few who can always use their knowledge to their advantage. Most people don't even take notice of the rules at all. But I belong to the type that knows all the rules and is thoroughly sick of them. It's like watching a conjurer perform a trick and knowing all the time exactly how it works. Smarter people than me get great satisfaction from that but I don't! I'd rather keep the illusion. I often get frustrated because I can't preserve the mystery no matter how hard I try."

"You forget that, sometimes, luck — or fate, if you prefer that — throws the dices anew, changing the course of all things," he smiles. "That's the moment when the thrill starts. If you're always aware of that, you'll never be able to feel bored anymore, because you can never be a hundred percent sure that things will always continue as you think."

"Do you mean many coincidences culminating in an unexpected event? But those things, too, happen because they fit the pattern. For example, an alert person with quick reactions is less likely to get run over by a car than an inattentive klutz. And even when the most improbable thing happens, people will always behave according to their nature, and after a while, life will continue in its same downward spiral as before."

"Not always. I think it's natural that you'll get bored of life if you consider it a card game with all the cards lying on the table. First, you can't know all of the cards, just as you can't know all of the aspects of the people around you. You can only guess them. And second, rare coincidences, which are not supposed to happen, do happen once in a while. There is always somebody winning the lottery, no matter how improbable it is."

"I know very well what you mean. The most improbable thing can always happen to one out of a billion people once in a while as long as the chance that it happens is not exactly nil. But you must admit that, when it comes to the average person as an individual, such a thing is so rare that it's as well as nonexistent."

"That's true," he admits. "But it's the awareness of the sheer possibility that can break your own destructive pattern of thinking, which — in my opinion — is what you're really so sick off. Some day, it might be your turn to pick a card, and you'll suddenly pick a wild one, changing the whole game." With a graceful flip of his hand, he bends forward and pulls a card out of your hair.

"The Queen of Spades," you exclaim, beholding the elaborately-drawn card in his palm. "A nice choice for someone like me. Very flattering indeed."

The Queen of Spades on his card was an elegant woman whose auburn hair was cascading down her waist in loose waves, surrounding her body like an antique frame. Her smart black dress and the proud manner in which she carries her head give her a faint aura of tragedy without lacking a certain romantic charm.

Looking up, you notice Kaito is staring at the card in disbelief.

"That's strange," he says, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "Such a thing usually doesn't happen to me. I wanted to pick a wild card, not the Queen of Spades..."

"A card to demonstrate that life can hold unexpected things? Like the Joker?"

"Yes... I've done this since I was eight. And I've never picked a wrong card before."

He looks so disturbed that you almost feel sorry for him.

"Which is why this—" you point at the Queen of Spades in his hand, "—actually serves the purpose of demonstrating that one does pick the wrong card from time to time. The most improbable thing has just happened. Thank you."

"But 'wrong' sounds so negative. Perhaps it's the right card for you. And since you didn't accept my flower, I must insist that you keep this card." He slips the card into the right pocket of your dress before you can think of an answer and then throws a glance at his watch.

"I'd love to stay longer but I must leave now. Aoko — she has been at her father's place because she can't resist visiting him once a week to mob up the whole apartment — is now waiting for me in Two Lights', the new bar which opened last month near the Juuban amusement park. Have you ever been there?"

You shake your head in response.

"The food is magnificent," he continues airily. "The owners of the bar have asked me to give a little performance tonight at midnight to attract more customers... or at least that was their excuse for inviting me. I have the impression that they're only trying to support my career without telling me. That bar is always packed with all kinds of customers. You seldom get a table without booking it in advance."

"How nice of them. Well, then... Break a leg!"

"Thanks. Are you leaving, too? What about walking to the next bus stop together?" He gives you a little wink. "Hakuba told me you're still living in your Juuban apartment."

You shake your head, smiling.

"I'm still in Juuban. But I think I'll stay here until the sun has gone down. Don't let your wife wait."

"I won't. But please take care of yourself — and don't mind the ghost if it bothers you."

"Ghost?" You stare at him. It is peculiar that he of all people would talk about ghosts.

"A friend of mine — the same woman who told me that twilight would be dangerous tonight — told me that such an unnaturally long twilight only occurs when a spirit doesn't die with its body but decides to wander on earth for one day to find a person who can bring them back to life. She said the ghost would try to steal a heart. Hence my previous warning that this twilight is dangerous."

"She must be a real romantic, your friend," you remark, wondering whether his friend has met Gin, too. Her story sounds like a rather loose version of his bedtime story.

"Oh, she isn't the type of woman who you'd call a romantic, I think. But she is a real witch, probably the last one in the world. She told me she has read about the legend in her magic book although she doesn't know the truth about it. Nobody knows."

He smiles and makes a gesture as if he were waving a thought away.

"She also said the ghost is not an evil apparition and won't try to harm anybody. Probably you wouldn't even notice that they're different from a normal person if you came across them."

For a moment, you're tempted to tell him your version of the story and then decide against it. He must go now, and you don't want to steal his time.

"Well, I'm glad there won't be any danger for me if I happen to meet the ghost here. But I think you're late."

"No, I'm never late," he asserts with a confident smile and bends down to kiss you. "I'm always on time."

With that, he disappears in a puff of fragrant white smoke.

It takes you a while to notice that you've been staring rather idiotically at the place where he has stood. Pulling yourself together, you reason that he must have been practising for some new tricks in this park before running into you. Perhaps it was a dress rehearsal for his performance this evening. He is a professional magician, after all.

How dramatic, you think to yourself. And still an incorrigible flirt! His poor wife must be having a hard time with him.

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	11. Now that you are alone again

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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_FS_

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**Now that you are alone again...**

Now that you are alone again, you regret having declined Kaito's offer to walk to the bus stop with him. You would have walked home, anyway, if he hadn't appeared so suddenly. So why are you still sitting here, waiting for the sun to go down? As always, it is hard for you to discover your true motivation behind so many different motives.

First, you are paranoid about Aoko-san seeing you two together if she randomly, on a whim, decides to fetch her husband from the bus station instead of waiting for him at her father's place; and second, there is this peculiarly long twilight you don't want to miss. Even though you're not five anymore and certainly don't believe in fairytales or ghosts or witches (especially not in the witch Kaito so readily invented for you), you still like the idea of giving your life a story. The stranger and you have talked about living creatively, after all. So why shouldn't you wait on this bench until the sun goes down and give this story an appropriate ending instead of giving up at this point?

In a novel, this evening might be only the beginning, and the protagonist would go home and continue to fret about her misspent evening and her senseless life while the sun wouldn't go down before she has met her own ghost at twilight. In your case, however, you know very well that this evening is only one of many other evenings during which nothing really happens, which is actually a blessing. And your simple short story with the title "Waiting for Kudo" will conclude very well with "The sun finally goes down, and Shiho walks home alone in the night." There is something poetic about a young woman walking alone in the middle of the night, returning to an almost empty apartment with a just as empty fridge, you think, smiling at the thought. It's a pity that such a scene looks much more romantic on the wide screen than it looks in real life. You will neither die from lack of food very soon nor is an empty apartment terribly depressing as long as you don't have to spend your whole life in it. In a movie, the setting is everything, contrary to real life.

As always, having convinced yourself that something must be true, your mind begins to search for arguments which destroy your previous statement and attempts to look at the matter from another point of view.

If you hadn't met anybody at this bench tonight, would you have recalled the story of the Ghost at Twilight and spent so much time contemplating true love and the lack of it in your life? Wouldn't you have waited for Kudo for a while and then go home to spend another cozy evening in bed with a mystery novel and a few cups of tea? And, without meeting Kaito, you certainly wouldn't have decided to stay here until the sun disappears completely. You only told him that you wanted to wait until the sun has gone down so that you wouldn't have to go to the bus station with him. Are the happenings of tonight really random and unimportant, or could a few unexpected encounters change the course of your life?

It's not like you to ponder over useless theories.

After this sunset ends, you are going to walk back to Juuban and drop into Furuhata's bar to have a snack and a drink. Motoki-san's cheerful face and his pleasantly served truisms will certainly chase away the remnants of tonight's gloom. In addition to his appealing looks, he has the talent for making complicated things appear ridiculously simple, which might explain why his bar, his sister's coffee shop and the game centre beneath it are so popular with troubled teenagers and young artists. Immediately after selling the Professor's house to Fusako-san and moving into your new apartment you had taken notice of its popularity, but you had never been tempted to visit it because it was always a tad too noisy for your taste. If Kaito hadn't suggested to try it out, you would never have entered it at all.

During your first date with Kaito, when you were watching Furuhata Motoki saunter from table to table, you were particularly impressed by his organized, calm and efficient way of working. Furthermore, he seemed to have a good awareness of when his customers wanted to be left alone and when they would like to talk to him; and he obviously knew how to deliver banalities in the right tone of voice just as he knew how to make the old vanilla and chocolate ice-cream look like something one had never tasted before.

A nice, relaxed, good-tempered guy, probably someone a woman could spend a lifetime with and, alas, actually a specimen you've never found even remotely attractive. It is strange but true: that type of man, often as steady as a rock despite his flirtatious demeanour, usually attract the neurotic, high-strung type of woman, the ones that never know what they want and are never happy with the things they get. You, on the other hand, have always gravitated towards overactive, impulsive men who like to live dangerously, men who never really settle down and who manage to get into trouble as fast as they get out of them on their own. While the attraction is at times mutual — as evidenced in your two weeks with Kaito —, your relationships with these overly independent men always start under unfortunate conditions. Considering how all of your crushes ended, one might get the impression that you only fell in love when you knew it couldn't last — and that, in reality, you never really wanted to have a lasting attachment to anybody at all.

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Before nodding off there is usually a moment when you can sense that you're leaving the real world to enter the realm of dreams. During such a moment, when you feel sleep overcoming you and your limbs growing heavier and heavier with every breath you take, you can dream and think about your dream at the same time, which you find fascinating and slightly disturbing for no logical reason. Unsettling...

"Isn't it unsettling how sudden life could end?" Where those the stranger's words or Gin's? You remember they both said something similar at one point or another although they had obviously chosen different ways of living to deal with the fact. Remembering the stranger's lively smile and Gin's sardonic smirk, you know that, as time goes by, the former will fade away into the back of your mind whereas the latter will stay with you forever. You are the negative type. Therefore, it is probably normal that you cannot forget the first time you fell out of love...

The events of that evening unfold before your eyes once again, not in disconnected scenes like in most of your dreams but chronologically, in sequences, giving you the feeling as if you were watching a movie again which you had watched only once and almost forgotten. Although you have the feeling that this has happened more than once in the past and ended badly, you still take pleasure in the mixed feelings this dream always gives you: the sense of déjà vu and the uncertainty about what is going to happen, the premonition of imminent disaster and the joy of being able to revisit a time of your life when you were still stupid and optimistic and very much alive.

The opening music of your movie is a catchy love song which, in your opinion, didn't suit the plot although it was extremely popular with the audience. If you had been asked to choose a theme song, you would certainly have chosen a different one. The first time you heard the lead singer's voice, however, you instantly fell in love with it. It made you neglect the excessive mellowness of the chord progressions and is probably the reason you can't even remember the lyrics of the song anymore despite having a good memory for verses. You only have a dim recollection of its contents (something odd like an unrequited love between two people belonging to different stations of the galaxy) and remember you dismissed it as nonsense — just another love song which tried too hard to be romantic and tragic and unbearably sweet at the same time. The voice of the lead singer was the only thing worth remembering and perhaps — if you really want to be fair — the good instrumentalists and background singers. But that's all you liked about it.

You never heard it again because you were always busy with work or with Gin, who was a bit of a snob and only listened to music if it was played live by famous jazz musicians in expensive bars. In retrospect, you think he was more of a snob than a killer. Once or twice, during uncommonly childish moments, you wondered whether he would have become a high-ranking member of the Organization at all if it hadn't been for the luxury the Organization offered, the expensive shampoos and eau de toilets, cigarettes and caviar, the Porsche and the tailored clothes... Perhaps, under different circumstances, he would have become a dealer or a lawyer or a politician instead...

You've just reached the line between consciousness and unconsciousness where you could simply leave your dream if you wanted to. But you don't want to, not during the pleasant part.

On the wide screen, the first scene opens in a small café where fifteen-year-old Sherry and her sister usually meet. You still know the setting well, can still smell the chocolate cake on the table and the hot coffee on your lips as if you were sipping it. The song from the two giant speakers at the bar has just ended, leaving you with a strange feeling of emptiness. You know you are supposed to be happy, waiting for the man you have been in love with since kindergarten. But somehow it is hard for you to feel anything except impatience. A glance at your watch tells you there are still forty minutes left until your rendezvous with Gin, who is going to fetch you at the corner of the street near Tosho-gu Shrine. You still have half an hour to sip your coffee at snail's pace because, as you know him, Gin is not going to appear even a minute before the agreed time. You console yourself with the thought that he won't come late either. His punctuality will be his death some day.

Noticing the eyes of other customers on you — it's no wonder as you are dressed up to the nines and sitting alone at a table for two — you pick up the newspaper on the stand next to your table and pretend to immerse yourself in it. On the front page, there is a big headline about a Gruesome Locked-Room Murder which had been solved by "the savior of the police force" teenager-sleuth Kudo Shinichi.

Interesting guy, you think, contemplating his radiant, proud, innocent blue eyes. How can somebody who has just solved a murder case smile so innocently at the camera? The guy was either a genius or a machine. It's not like one must lose ones ability to smile after seeing a corpse to prove that one is human, you admit, but usually people would be visibly affected by the sight of a mutilated corpse for at least a few days. Only extremely stupid, tough or intelligent people (who are able to regain their composure in an instant!) can still smile like that after looking at the corpse as it was described in the news, and you doubt that Kudo-kun belongs to the first category.

There is the familiar sound of the bell and the cold breeze which enters the café every time a new customer arrives, and you turn your head to look at the newcomer.

It is not Gin, as you've already known instinctively when the door opened. Your sixth sense (or is it just your fine nose?) is as good as ever. The person at the door is infinitely more delicate and refined and a complete stranger to you. She is a graceful girl about your age or slightly older, with conspicuous reddish-brown buns and eyes of the same colour, who looks a bit too ladylike and totally out of place in her ornate red evening dress and reddish-brown makeup.

Sherry, the heroine of this movie, looks just as out of place in her elegant little black dress (sans makeup), which is probably the reason she is smiling at the young woman now. You can watch Sherry smiling because, in this dream, you exist twice. Sometimes, even when you're awake, you have this feeling of complete dissociation, as if you were both the actor and the observer at the same time.

The young woman seems to have been encouraged by the smile, as she walks towards Sherry's table and asks her whether Sherry had seen a young blonde man in a blue suit or not.

"I'm a bit late," she explains, "and I'm afraid he might have thought that I haven't come. You see... I told him not to wait because I probably wouldn't make it." For a moment, her serious eyes are twinkling mischievously. "I've just skipped a class to come here."

There is a pleasant tea-like smell about her which is almost too natural to be a perfume. Sherry, whose fine nose likes fragrant plants, identifies it as sweet osmanthus.

No, she hasn't seen any young blonde man in a blue suit, Sherry replies — actually, she hasn't seen any blonde man at all during the last thirty minutes, and she is a very good observer. It seems "he" is late, too...

The redhead sighs, again with a smile. It appears that "he" habitually comes late. She often wonders why he is always in a hurry and still comes late all the time.

Sherry remarks that it is — ironically — always the people who are always in a hurry who are also always late. Most of them are a klutz as well, which can't be a coincidence.

The stranger laughs.

"Oh, I know such people, but he is really not one of them. He is extremely organized and agile, not what anybody would call a klutz. That's why I can't understand why he always behaves as if he were chased by someone."

She smiles. And for a moment, she seems to be torn between leaving (prompted by her good upbringing?) and sitting down, yielding to the spontaneous good rapport with the girl she has just met. Sherry, who has noticed her indecisiveness and who is in a friendly mood, indicates the chair opposite her.

"I'm waiting for my boyfriend, too," she says, secretly rejoicing in the fact that she has called Gin her boyfriend for the first time. In reality, it's also the first time that he has asked her out for another purpose than questioning her about the development of APTX.

"Oh, what a coincidence... And your boyfriend is late, too?"

"No, it's me who is early. I'm really paranoid about coming late."

The distant sound of an engine is growing gradually louder as if comes closer and then dies away in a beautifully smooth diminuendo. At that moment, the camera leaves the two girls to pan to a motorbike which has just stopped in front of the café. The driver, a sporty young person in a blue biker's suit and a blue helmet, is standing indecisively at the door for a minute and then returns to his bike — leaving the door open — to honk rapidly. The camera zooms in to his face, which is almost completely hidden by the helmet, to show his troubled eyes, and then slowly zooms out before returning to the two girls, who are still chatting with each other.

"I think your boyfriend is honking at you," Sherry says, thinking that it's amazing that such a well-mannered lady could have fallen in love with such an ill-mannered guy. It's the classical story of opposites attract.

"Oh my God," the stranger exclaims, rising from her chair. "He told me he would be wearing a blue suit... That's why I'm wearing this dress. I thought we're going to some fancy place where one had to wear formal clothes."

"Didn't he tell you where you were going?"

"No, he never does. He only told me it would be a place I like. But I see he won't come in..." She smiles for the last time, automatically straightens out her dress and then bows deeply. "It was extremely pleasant to chat with you. I hope your boyfriend will come soon, too."

"Have a good time," Sherry says. And she — and you — gaze after the stranger's retreating figure with mixed feelings while her outlines dissolve in the blinding light.

The atmosphere changes rapidly with the scenery, and you find yourself standing in front of Gin's beloved Porsche, enjoying another rare sight: Gin is smiling, beaming at you from beneath his new black hat. You wonder if you are the only person who notices that he changes his hat every month and whether he changes them out of vanity — they all look remarkably similar to each other — or out of paranoia.

"You look smashing," he says in a fake old English accent, regarding you with a single long look of appreciation. His English is much better than you've expected, as if he had studied it very well or started to learn it when he was very young.

"I suppose you expect me to return that compliment," you laugh quietly, breathing in the familiar scent of his perfume and cigarette while climbing into the passenger seat. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere where we won't meet the whole crew... I'd like to be alone with you for once without the whole gang knowing about it." He lights himself a cigarette and starts the car. "But there is a job I need to do first. Just got a call about it from Vodka. Business before pleasure, I'm afraid."

You remember Gin once hinted that his job was to ensure that the most important financial transactions of the Organization proceed as smoothly as planned. Therefore, when the Porsche stops at an unappealing side street next to a little flower shop, you almost expect him to go in and tell you to wait for him inside the car until he comes back. However, he doesn't attempt to leave and only lights himself another cigarette, this time offering you one.

No, thanks, you say. What are we doing here? Are you going to buy me a flower?

The smoke has begun to irritate you. It annoys you that he is not trying to tell you any details about the job he has to take care of, that Vodka always appears either in person or in the form of a phone call whenever you're with him, that he never lets you distract him from doing his job... You even begin to wonder whether you haven't mistaken his attentions for love.

Not here, he answers. According to Vodka, the person he is waiting for has entered the shop about ten minutes ago. They should come out any moment. There they are.

You turn away from him to glance at the entrance of the shop and discover to your great surprise the stranger you just met in the café. Behind her is her sporty blue-clad biker, who has just put on his helmet and is now taking her hand to pull her towards his bike in a hurry. Once again it strikes you how exquisite and out of place she looks, like an expensive exotic flower in the middle of the pavement. The impression is strengthened by the gorgeous bunch of roses she is carrying in her arm, a huge, exquisite-looking bouquet in which three radiant giant roses are glowing brightly amidst a cloud of tiny green, pink and white flowers. The colours of the roses immediately catch your attention: snow-white, golden-yellow and a deep scarlet.

Strange choice in combination, you think. Usually, people would stick to one or two colours when they buy roses, especially roses of such colours and dimensions. Other people passing by seem to be thinking the same, judging from the look on their faces when they catch sight of the bouquet.

"Must have cost a fortune," Gin remarks.

"The flowers or the woman?"

"Neither... I saw a similar bike in a shop a few years ago. Was too extravagant even for my taste."

The stranger and her boyfriend, in the meantime, have climbed onto his overpriced bike, which is now racing down the main street at breakneck speed. In an instant, a midnight-blue car, which has been parking on the other side of the street, also starts its engine to drive in the same direction. Gin throws a glance at the car, puts out his cigarette and begins to follow them at some distance.

"I know the girl," you say quietly, deciding that telling him the truth now is better than letting him discover it on his own later. "We just met at the café."

Gin shoots you a quizzical look.

"And?..."

"Well, I didn't expect her to have anything to do with the Organization," you remark.

"She doesn't. She is just another stupid good girl falling for the stereotypical bad boy," Gin grins. "But he is one of us."

"So it's him and not her? What kind of business do you have with him?"

"I'm only giving him a red card," he shrugs. "He has stolen important information to store it on his personal computer. The Boss doesn't want him dead, though. The official explanation is that he hasn't tried to sell it to anybody. In that case, I think it would be better to kill him now before he finds a buyer. Traitors should be taken care of properly."

"Maybe he is only keeping the information to ensure his own safety," you remark weakly, as you don't like the direction your conversation is heading.

"He shouldn't have stolen it in the first place. But the Boss likes him for reasons I don't know. Hence we're only allowed to give him a few scratches. A little warning, not more."

"So how are you going to give him the scratches?" you ask and suddenly remember. You remember that you are dreaming and that the past had been similar to this dream, which you have had over and over again in many variants without really remembering it after waking up.

Vaguely, you remember the expression of horror and disbelief on her face when her eyes met yours, the scratching sound of the motorbike against Gin's car, her scream and the feeling of the steering wheel under your hand... Gin's grip around your wrist and his cool, steady voice as he told you calmly: "Don't ever do that again."

"Isn't it unsettling how sudden life could end?" asks Gin's voice quietly, ironically, his sad little smile fading away as the world around you turns into night. You can feel Gin's lips on your cheeks and his hand in your hair while you're staring at the stars in the sky, thinking of the other girl, who is probably still lying on the pavement.

Just another innocent victim who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time while her boyfriend was getting the red card. She had survived, so Gin had told you, just as her boyfriend had, although she certainly received more than just a few "scratches" after what you had witnessed... You don't have a rational reason to feel guilty, especially since your attempt to interfere might have saved her life. Why is her face still haunting you in your dreams?

You know you will not remember her face after waking up — you never do... But her delicate little smile and slightly melancholic eyes will linger somewhere in a dark corner of your memory, reminding you of the reason you can never love anybody unconditionally again.

It has become incredibly quiet, you realize, as if all sounds had died.

"Haibara," says Kudo's voice, breaking the silence. "Were you going to sleep here?"

The starry night disappears with the sensation of a pair of warm hands on your shoulders. When you open your eyes, he withdraws them immediately, taking a step back to frown at you. Blinking at his silhouette against the twilight, you try to suppress the shiver running through your body. The air has become extremely cold during your nap.

"Where have you been?" you snap at him, putting all the frustration you've accumulated during the whole evening into one sentence. "It's almost... no, it's already midnight."

He throws his hands up in defeat, a gesture which is so uncharacteristic for him that your anger completely vanishes.

"I tried to be on time. But... It's a long story."

"Give me the short version now and the long one later!"

"I..." He seems, for once, at lost for words. "I overslept."

Oh wonderful, you think. You've been waiting for him like a lovesick idiot, sleeping on a bench in the park until midnight to find out that he had been napping at home for the whole evening. Your eyes must have expressed exactly what you are feeling, judging from the look on his face.

"I hadn't slept for two nights because of my last case," he sighs. "So the snooze at noon turned out longer than expected. When I woke up it was already seven. Afterwards I went directly to your place because I expected to find you there. I tried to call you, but you probably left your mobile phone and your badge at home again. Then I waited for hours at your door because I thought you were caught in the traffic jam on the way home. But since you didn't come home, I went to Furuhata's..." his voice trails off.

_Furuhata's..._ You have to repeat it once in your head before your mind grasps its meaning. The other thought going almost simultaneously through your head is that the sky has still not changed even though it is already midnight. When your eyes leave his face to look at the sky, Kudo, following your gaze, turns round.

With a start, you notice that the sun is visibly sinking, draining the last reddish tints from the sky. While the shadows underneath the lanterns deepen, other shadows are fading away, their outlines dissolving into the darkness with the last rays of natural light.

g.


	12. I suppose we've just

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to SN1987a, who is currently betaing this fic. I have a tendency to make my sentences as long and complicated as possible. Without her, the long sentences in this fic would have been much longer. XD**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

g.

**"I suppose we've just..."**

"I suppose we've just been watching the sunset together," I remark, thinking with some amusement that, if my story were to end at this point, the readers would probably consider its conclusion a happy ending. "What about having dinner now?"

Now that the last reddish tints have completely disappeared from the sky, I notice that Kudo has become paler than the last time I saw him, with deep shadows under his eyes, which are still as attentive as ever. Now those eyes are scanning me for a moment, giving my left arm a short wondering glance before they return to my face.

"I know only two restaurants on the way to your apartment where we can have dinner at this hour," he says, pulling slightly at my elbow to make me follow him. "I'd like to give Two Lights' a try although it's probably still crammed with people. If you don't mind, we can have our late-night dinner there." Throwing a suspiciously innocent glance at me, he adds: "Unless you prefer going to Furuhata's instead."

I scrutinize his face for a moment, wondering whether he has mentioned Furuhata's for the second time without intending to imply anything until the almost imperceptible but definitely mocking expression in his eyes give him away. For lack of a witty retort, however, I decide to pretend that I hadn't noticed his insinuation at all.

"No, thank you. On second thought, I think I'd rather call it a day and go home."

While I'm actually wide awake and would have loved to go to the new restaurant which seems so popular, going to Two Lights' at this hour with Kudo would inevitably entail running into Kaito again. After my conversation with Kaito and the discovery that Kudo has known about Furuhata's all along, sitting with Kaito (with or without his wife) and Kudo in the same bar is the last thing I want.

"Alright," Kudo says curtly, letting go of my elbow.

We look at each other silently for an awkward moment.

"Well, then I'm going home now," I say slowly, feeling extremely exhausted all of a sudden. "Good night."

Turning on my heels, I wonder once again why I had agreed to see Kudo tonight and why he had bothered to ask me to spend the evening with him. We hardly ever meet, and whenever we meet, we fail to communicate. Things have become uncomfortable between us ever since we returned to our original bodies, but I'm not sure whether it was because of what happened at Pandora's Box or whether it was just the usual moving on.

"I'm going to call us a taxi," he says, falling into step beside me, and pulls out his mobile phone.

"I don't mind walking."

"Oh great, my battery is dead again," he sighs at his battered phone, completely ignoring my remark. "It's time I get a new one."

"I don't need a taxi, anyway," I repeat in case he hasn't paid attention to me. "It's only a thirty-minute walk to Juuban."

"We can take the bus," he suggests, throwing a meaningful glance at my new sandals.

"No, thanks. A little walk will do me good."

I don't know why I'm trying to hide the fact from him that I've lost my handbag and, as a result, don't have any cash on me. Perhaps I'm afraid that Kudo would immediately run off to hunt for it.

Now we're walking next to each other in strained silence, as if neither of us can think of anything appropriate to say. We've known each other for too long to chat about our health and the weather, but, on the other hand, we are not so close that we can easily banter or walk in complete silence with each other as Edogawa and Haibara could have done.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" he asks at last.

"No, this weekend I'm completely free."

"I'm fetching Ran from the train station tomorrow night," he says in a confidential tone. "Until then I'm free, too."

While I'm still wondering what I'm to do with this piece of information (Did he mean that we should go out and have breakfast or lunch together tomorrow because he has overslept our dinner?), he begins to bombard me with information about our mutual acquaintances as if I had been away for years: Kobayashi-sensei — perhaps it's time we called her Shiratori-sensei now that she is married — has caught a nasty flu (news I already heard from Ayumi-chan!); Hondou-kun is holidaying in Rome, recovering from a fresh wound (which, knowing him, I believe he inflicted upon himself during another spell of bad luck or clumsiness!); Jodie-san has broken her right arm during an attempt to stop two fleeing bank robbers at the same time (I've already learnt about the whole unfortunate affair from Jodie-san herself, who still keeps in touch with me after moving to Chicago!)... It seems that Kudo, like most optimistic people, likes to start with the bad news before moving on to the good ones.

"Hattori and Toyama announced their engagement last Sunday..." Kudo proceeds as expected.

"I know," I interject. Ran has already informed me about this. "Those two are so slow it almost hurts to watch them. They should have married years ago... just like Ran and you."

I don't know why I said that. Perhaps I only wanted to see him blush again. But Kudo Shinichi at twenty-two certainly doesn't get as easily embarrassed as Kudo Shinichi at seventeen. He doesn't blush at all but only shoots me an inquiring look and asks: "So you think that, too?"

"You already wanted to propose to her years ago. I don't know what you're waiting for."

Marvelous, I think. First we didn't know what to say to each other and now we're already discussing his marriage prospects. Next we might even get the idea to discuss mine.

"My mother keeps nagging me about it these days," he sighs. "She doesn't let even one phone call pass without asking me when Ran and I are finally going to marry. I think it's too early for both of us because Ran still wants to win the next national karate championships and I still want to focus on my cases. I haven't even started my own detective agency yet." He kicks at a pebble, which amuses me for no clear reason. "My mother suggests that we get married as soon as possible, have one kid or two and work on our careers again when they are old enough to go to kindergarten, but that's exactly what I don't want to do."

"Isn't it normal that you don't want to do what your mother wants you to?" I ask. "If she had suggested the opposite, you would probably have run off to get married in an instant."

He winces.

"Maybe... But that's because she has got no common sense at all and keeps saying confusing things I can't understand... things like I wouldn't know what I want and should learn to stick to my decisions for once. She once said really odd things about you, too..." He knits his brows and frowns at an invisible person in front of him while kicking nervously at a pebble on the street.

"What things?"

He sighs, hesitating as if he weren't sure whether he should tell me or not. Then he smiles and says almost apologetically: "It's years ago, so it doesn't really matter anymore... But she said you were always looking at me because you thought there was something on my face."

"I can't remember staring at you at all," I protest, puzzled by his mother's assertion. "I usually look directly at people when I talk to them. It doesn't have anything to do with you."

"I already told you I can't understand what is going on in her head either."

We are walking in silence again. This time, however, it feels slightly less oppressive than before.

"Has Sonoko told you she is going to Venice to study art history?" he proceeds.

"Yes, she even told me she has already rented a villa there."

"It's another silly idea of hers," he remarks. "She has never been interested in either art or history."

"I think it's an excuse to move away from her mother and spend more time with Kyogoku."

He knows Sonoko's mother likes to pick at Kyogoku, Kudo says. But he can't quite understand why it absolutely had to be Venice. Why should anybody want to pay an exorbitant price for a villa in an expensive, impractical and tiny city to study something they are not even interested in?

Venice has a certain romantic charm if you can tolerate all the inconveniences, I protest. Tenoh Haruka and Kaioh Michiru have been living for years there, just like Aino Minako. And it is rumoured that perhaps Seiya Kou is going to move there, too. If four of Sonoko's favourite stars don't mind the inconveniences, why should she? Sonoko, who has never concerned herself with money matters, would have moved to Honolulu if she had known that Seiya Kou would be there. Of course it absolutely had to be Venice.

"Seiya Kou... I see Sonoko has already infected you with her Three Lights obsession," he says in a humorous tone, not really meaning it.

"Luckily, she hasn't. I don't even know what he looks like although she insists that I must have seen his face on TV or on a poster somewhere. But isn't it supposed to be 'Two Lights' like the restaurant?"

No, it was 'Three Lights' before the band dissolved, Kudo explains. Two of them — the background vocalist and the keyboardist — are staging a comeback in July as 'Two Lights' while Seiya, their previous lead vocalist and Sonoko's favourite, seems to have retired.

'I'm surprised Sonoko didn't show you all of her Seiya Kou collection," he chuckles quietly to himself. "Ran told me that Sonoko collects everything even if it's only remotely related to him, from DVDs and CDs, posters, photos, ads and autographs to the random merchandise — you know, the usual things: mascots, key chains, T-shirts, stickers, mugs... No sooner had she discovered him than he retired from the stage and disappeared into thin air. Hence she tries to make up for it by collecting junk. It looks like a mania to me. The poor guy is lucky she hasn't broken into his apartment to steal his clothes... yet."

"She once told me she didn't know where he lived. His jealous agent is hiding his whereabouts well. Besides, she is not the type who would—"

"His agent probably had to hide his address for his own safety. Some fans can turn violent when they feel abandoned by their idol, and I remember many of his fans felt betrayed when he left the stage without giving them a good excuse. Still, I didn't expect Sonoko to let such small obstacles hinder her."

Kudo seldom talks sardonically about any other person but Sonoko, and I'm not sure whether he only dislikes her because of her influence on Ran or whether he really can't stand her personally. With her capricious and whimsical nature, she must seem to him like the polar opposite of his modest girlfriend. In any case, I realize I have to lead the conversation in a different direction if I don't want to end up ridiculing Sonoko behind her back.

"Since she never mentioned his band to me, I always thought Seiya was a soloist."

"As far as I know, he has never been a soloist. He never appeared on stage without the other two."

"And how come you know so much about him? Are you a secret fan?"

"Nonsense. I'm only well-informed about him because it's important for my job. Apart from that, it's you who really lacks knowledge when it comes to people the public is interested in."

"That is going to change soon. Sonoko-chan has invited me to her place to have a look at her idol collections, and I'm running out of excuses why I absolutely can't go."

"You don't want to go?"

"As long as I can still find an excuse? Probably not."

"I would have accepted her invitation just to have a look at that monstrous collection of hers. But of course she wouldn't invite me. Why don't you want to go?"

"It doesn't have anything to do with her. The older I get, the more I prefer meeting people in public to visiting them at home. I like to keep a certain distance... It makes life simple."

"I prefer visiting people in their homes," he says thoughtfully. "You can learn a lot about other people by looking at their apartments and studying the contents of their cupboards and drawers."

"You know, that's actually something I can imagine you doing... looking into other people's cupboards without their permission."

He laughs. And the past three years seem to have been erased out of a sudden, as if we had only taken the antidote a few days ago.

g.

A cool breeze makes me shiver, and Kudo takes off his jacket to throw it over my shoulders before I can protest.

"I'm still warm," he says. "But you've been sitting in the park for hours. You're going to catch a cold."

"Aren't you the one who always caught a cold?" I ask, throwing the jacket back at him. "Spare your gallantries for Ran when you fetch her from the train tomorrow. And you should really stop carrying all of your belongings with you. Your jacket is even heavier than Kojima-kun's bento."

I'm probably shooting myself in the foot again because I'm freezing and would have gladly snuggled into that warm jacket if it had not belonged to Kudo. However, there is something about the way he treats me which irks me to no end.

"I remember catching most of my colds from you," he says, handing me his jacket again with a smile.

"That's not true," I protest, shoving his jacket away. Busy fighting off his unwanted chivalries, I was about to run into a wall on my left without noticing and barely manage to jump to the right at the last moment, knocking against Kudo during the process.

"Speak of the devil..." Kudo smiles, indicating the poster on the wall, where two young men, the tall one in a yellow and the short one in a blueish-grey suit, are gazing at the audience with piercing eyes. Framing their figures in a very picturesque and hardly natural way, their flying ponytails are easily the longest I have ever seen.

"So that's Two Lights?" I ask, letting my eyes wander from their beautiful and androgynous faces to their much-too-glossy hair (apparently a result of hairspray and Photoshop overuse) to stay at the roses on their suits. "Are they the owners of the restaurant in Juuban, too?"

"Yes... Their fans probably hope that they will make a surprise appearance there in the near future, especially since there is a small stage for live music on the first floor. As far as I know, the house is always bursting with fans and reporters. Two Lights hasn't shown themselves until now, but I suspect they're saving the performance for the week before their comeback."

"They could look fabulous with those pretty faces, especially the short one," I eye the poster critically. "But standing next to each other like that, they look a bit ridiculous, don't you think? I feel like calling them Shortie and Stick. And the roses they wear on their jackets really add insult to injury."

"When they were Three Lights, their lead singer was standing between them. I think they looked better then, when their ponytails and the lighting made them look like three shooting stars."

"So why did they split up? Was Seiya's voice so unbearably bad they had to stop?"

He laughs.

"You never heard anything by Three Lights, did you? His voice was almost unbearably good. There was a real hype about him before he retired from the stage."

"Really? Well, I suppose not everybody wants to be a lead singer of a former boy group forever. It must have been suffocating."

"Probably," he says slowly, thoughtfully, as if I had reminded him of something.

"One extra capsule of APAH for your thoughts," I say, giving his arm a little nudge because he seems suddenly very far away.

"How generous. But I'm sure you'll be disappointed," he says dismissively. "I was suddenly reminded of an old case of mine. The one on your birthday two years ago. Do you remember... I didn't make it in time because I was investigating a case."

"I've almost forgotten about that," I lie. "Most probably I didn't even expect you to come. You know, it wouldn't have been the first time you stumbled over a case."

"I was late, but I did come immediately after solving the case," he says matter-of-factly. "It's you who wasn't home. And you didn't even take your mobile phone or your Detective badge with you, as usual." There is a trace of bitterness in his voice, which surprises me. "You never carry it around anymore since you took the antidote. Anyway... Since I didn't want to sit there doing nothing, I decided to visit the culprit first and come back later.

"But you didn't return, did you? Or was it so late that you didn't dare to ring again when you were finished with your case?" I ask, thinking that he must have seen me with Kaito through the huge windows of Furuhata's. Is it really futile to hide my past with Kaito from him, or could I still pretend that Kaito and I had only gone out for dinner that night and never met again? Thanks to Kaito's disguise, I could even have pretended I had never known it was Kaito in the first place if I had not been taken by surprise by Kudo's question.

He only gives me an enigmatic smile, which seems fainter and lasts slightly longer than usual, before his eyes leave mine. Following his gaze, I realize we are now standing in front of my landlady's garden where the azaleas are already in full bloom. In the darkness of the night, only dimly lit by an old lantern next to the entrance door, the flowers have changed from pink and red to a greyish mauve and midnight blue. And once again I'm reminded of Kaito, who had been standing with me here two years ago, kissing me goodbye for the first time.

"Well," Kudo says quietly, meaningfully, somehow conveying the impression that he knows exactly what I've been thinking of.

"Well," I echo, stepping back so that I will not confuse him with Kaito in my distraction and accidentally kiss him out of habit. "It's goodbye again, isn't it? Thanks for bringing me home."

"Are you very tired?" he asks.

"Not really. But you definitely look as if you need to catch up on sleep."

Now that I'm studying his face more closely, I notice that he doesn't only look extremely sleep-deprived but also exhausted and despondent. Since I'm not under the illusion that he would have dragged himself to our odd tête-à-tête in such a condition, waited for hours in front of my apartment and searched for me at Furuhata's and Ueno-koen simply to tell me that he had overslept when an e-mail or a phone call the next day could have cleared up the situation, I conclude that he might have wanted to meet me tonight for a much more solid reason. When I open my mouth to tell him that we don't have time to stand here staring at each other forever and that he should tell me at once whether anything is wrong with him, he takes a wide step towards me, closing the distance between us, and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Since you're not too tired, may I ask you for a favour?" he asks gently, in his sweetest voice. I still know that voice well because he always used it in the past whenever he was begging me for the temporary antidote.

"You can always try," I reply just as sweetly, ironically, thinking that I'm most probably going to help him buy a present for Ran. What else could he want from me so badly at such an hour?

He bends forward and rummages around in the pockets of his jacket, which I'm still wearing. After an eternity of searching it and pulling out sundry objects like a bunch of keys, an address book, a briefcase, letters, papers, old tickets, two notebooks, various pens, pocketknives, magnifying glasses, earphones and tracking glasses, he fishes out an empty brown bottle which I immediately recognize as the first bottle of APAH I gave him three years ago.

"Can you give me the next batch of APAH? I took my last capsules before leaving my house tonight. I don't have any left."

"You've already used up the latest batch?" I stare at him, aghast. "There were three hundred capsules in it, enough to last until June, or so I thought."

I've got into the habit of sending Kudo the APAH capsules four times a year by throwing a sealed package into his mailbox when nobody is watching. Thinking that he — being the workaholic he is — might need three instead of two capsules on particularly stressful days, I always make sure to give him at least three hundred capsules so that he will never run out of painkillers before receiving the next batch. As I expected him to swallow them within limits (how could I, considering it's Kudo I was dealing with?), I thought he must be collecting them by now instead of barely getting by on what I give him.

"I can't help it," he sighs. "I think my headaches only get worse with every passing day, and you said there wouldn't be any side effects. I hope there is nothing wrong with the antidote."

"That's strange. There aren't any complications as far as I'm concerned. I've even reduced my daily dosage to one capsule."

Since he didn't have any health problems during the first year after taking the antidote, it's unlikely that the antidote has anything to do with his current problem, I explain to him. The headaches are most likely a reaction of his body to the shock it experienced when it returned to its original state after the long interruption, like the pain one experiences when one tries to move an arm which has been too long in a plaster cast. They are going to disappear gradually with time depending on his mental health and ability to heal although I can't tell him how long it will take.

"... Still, I'd like to examine you again and do a few tests with you. I have to find out why you need so much APAH to get rid of your headaches." I study his pupils with scientific interest. "Your body might have grown immune to APAH during the years or really developed an allergy to it, which would be even worse. In any case, I'll have to find an alternative painkiller for you, something that you can mix yourself. I don't want to spend the rest of my life mixing APAH and spoon-feed you every day. I'm not very busy this month, so drop in on me whenever I'm home and have yourself checked."

"Thank you. We're going to do that as soon as possible, tomorrow morning if you don't mind. But can't you give me a few of your capsules in advance for tonight?"

"You know what? You begin to sound like a real drug addict, which — now that I'm thinking about it — you actually are, considering how much APAH your body needs." I consult my watch, which says ten to one a.m. "I can give you a few of mine for tonight if you like and make you the next batch before I go to bed. You only need to wait for about an hour."

"That would be great," he sighs in relief, beaming at me with such a happy expression on his face that it pricks my conscience. Nothing I've ever invented has functioned properly, especially not when Kudo was concerned. And the realization that he is still a victim of my drugs and perhaps forever depending on me profoundly disturbs me.

"Would you mind if I came with you at this hour?" he asks. "Or would you prefer me to wait for you at Furuhata's?"

There is that peculiar sense of déjà vu again when he mentions Furuhata's, and the memory of Kaito offering me his arm with a smile... Kaito's smile on Kudo's face...

He is looking at me expectantly, obviously preferring to wait in my apartment where he can slouch on the sofa in peace to sitting in a bar with background music and noisy teenagers while his headaches are killing him.

"That's ridiculous. Of course you can wait upstairs in my apartment," I tell him in a fit of irrational thinking, ignoring the thought that it might be better if he waited for me in Furuhata's game centre or in another bar at the end of the street. "I'm going to make us some tea."

Fumbling around in my left pocket for the key, I find it stuck in the small hole it has pricked into the thin fabric. Once again, I must admit that the pockets of this dress were not made to be used, at least not in the way I use them, and spontaneously put my right hand into my right pocket to search for something my mind has not clearly defined yet. When I realize that I'm looking for the card Kaito has given me, I discover to my bewilderment that it has disappeared. However, there is no hole in my right pocket. And for a moment, I don't really know anymore whether I can still trust my memories and my own perception or whether all the happenings of tonight have only been parts of a long, strangely naturalistic dream.

g.


	13. The house where I live

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to SN1987a, who is currently betaing this fic. I have a tendency to make my sentences as long and complicated as possible. Without her, the long sentences in this fic would have been much longer. XD**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**The house where I live...**

The house where I live is a building of three one-bedroom units, each with a large balcony connecting the bedroom with the living room. My landlady and her husband occupy the first floor, their daughter Reika — an archaeologist who is always abroad and whom I have never met — the top floor and I the second floor.

Three years ago, on the way to the private hospital in Juuban to which the Professor was admitted after his accident, the azalea shrubs and the two cherry trees adorning the entrance of the house caught my attention. Being preoccupied with the Professor's condition at that time, I didn't care enough about the sight to ponder the reason why it caught my eyes. Two months later, however, when I spotted the house with the azalea shrubs and the cherry trees again in an advertisement while searching for a new place to live, I felt strangely affected by the coincidence. Still, I wasn't sure whether I really wanted to live in Juuban again.

The rent was, thanks to the Professor's foresight, a minor issue. After he passed away, I learned that he had bequeathed all of his inventions to Kudo and the rest of his personal belongings and his property to me, much to my surprise because I would never have expected him to leave a will at all. While I was wondering whether I should keep the house exactly as it was before the Professor's death or remove his stuff from my sight so that I could get accustomed to the thought that he was no longer there, Fusako-san contacted me and asked me to help her find a house in Beika. I immediately suggested that she moved into the Professor's house, thinking that the Professor would have liked the idea. Thus — and despite (or rather because of?) Kudo's weird offer to stay at his place — I resolved to exchange Beika for another district of Tokyo.

I was still wondering whether I should go and have a look at the apartment in Juuban or not when Kudo called and informed me that a lovely married couple — old friends of Hattori's mother — was looking for an uncomplicated and well-behaved tenant, having had unpleasant experiences with the previous one. The price of the vast one-bedroom apartment they offered was still negotiable if I agreed to move in right away. Coincidentally, their apartment was the same apartment I had seen in the advertisement, which practically settled it. Whenever I think back, I can't help feeling that it was not me who found the apartment but the apartment which found me.

g.

"It's hard to believe you've already been living here for three years," Kudo, who has just returned from the bathroom, remarks.

I let my eyes roam about the vast living room, trying to take in the minimalistic elegance of the naked green walls, the bar, the sofa, the coffee table and the TV as if I were looking at the apartment for the first time.

"Why? It's spacious this way. I have all I need. I could even get rid of the TV since I haven't switched it on for months."

"I always thought you liked personal and decorative things: curtains, paintings, flowers, photos... But there is nothing like that here, not even one photo or any of the small plush animals you liked so much."

"Did you think I was girly?" I raise my brow at him.

He chuckles at the thought.

"I wouldn't put it that way, but the Professor's house did look a great deal nicer after you came. Where have the curtains gone which were still here the last time I visited you? And where do you keep your books now?"

The last time he "visited" me was my last birthday, which I celebrated by switching off my mobile phone and staying in the library until it closed. When I went to bed that night, I discovered his present on my pillow: a lavender-coloured handbag and a birthday card telling me that he had left to catch his train to Osaka where — so I surmised — Hattori was probably waiting for him.

The thing which really irked me was, strangely enough, not the fact that he had dared to break into my apartment but that he had given me a handbag, which proved — once again! — that he had misunderstood me and taken my jokes seriously when he was not supposed to. Moreover, it was the kind of present he ought to have given Ran. It was the same when he offered me to stay at his house, unconcerned about what other people would have thought if I had really agreed to live there. He had done such things before, when we were still Edogawa and Haibara, giving me a necklace which he probably bought on a whim just because he needed a last-minute birthday present. Or did he do it because I once, thinking of Ran who always got various knitwear from him as if she were his mother, said that a girl would like to receive a necklace for a change? Despite his obvious genius, Kudo can be unnaturally dense when it comes to communication in general and communication with women in particular.

"I've given most of my old books away, and the few books I still own are in my bedroom, along with personal things like letters and photos," I inform him. "Don't even dream of ransacking my bedroom when I'm not looking... I only make myself comfortable there because I never have any guests here, anyway. Well, and all the curtains and the plush animals are in my wardrobe so that they don't gather dust. Seems my laziness takes over my comfort-loving side when I'm alone."

He strolls over to the bar and ensconces himself next to me. Illuminated by the seven lamps which I had paranoically installed in my living room when I moved in, with his tousled hair and an unfamiliar five-o'clock shadow on his chin, he appears older and more haggard than I had expected him to look after taking the antidote. In a few years he will look exactly like a modern Japanese version of Sherlock Holmes, I think in amusement. All he needs are a pipe or a cigarette and the trademarked deerstalker.

"Perhaps you need a husband who does all the housework for you," he suggests out of a sudden. "That way you can decorate your apartment without thinking about how much of a hassle it would be to keep it clean and cozy."

"That basically means I ought to marry a woman," I sigh. "Have you ever met a man who is good at doing household chores?"

"Oh, I've known a few, though most of them were either the victims or the culprits of my previous cases. I don't know if it has anything to do with their housekeeping skills, though."

"I hope not. I've come across enough murderers for one lifetime. Apart from that, I need somebody who can live up to all of my other expectations. I have quite a few when it comes to my future house husband," I joke, thinking that I might as well emphasize the celebrity attitude which I, according to Kudo, always display without noticing.

He rolls his eyes, once again taking me seriously when he is not supposed to.

"I'm sure there are a few men — oh well, very few men! — in the world who can meet even your standards. But since it's a universally known fact that nobody is perfect, I fear you'll have to overlook quite a few weaknesses in a man to find one with all the good traits you are looking for."

"And what if I'm absolutely not willing to? You know, maybe it's better for me not to decorate my apartment at all. From all the men I've met until now, I've arrived at the conclusion that having a husband is a luxury I can do without."

He laughs, handing me two cups as the water is boiling.

"I admit I can't cook. But even I can make myself useful when it comes to household chores."

"Too bad I can't marry you, can I?" I joke and immediately regret it when I notice his bewildered face. There is definitely something wrong with me tonight. Only five minutes after being annoyed about his tendency to take my jokes literally and to misunderstand my intentions, I unthinkingly blurted out things which any man I know would misinterpret as a flirt. To prevent him from saying something obvious and humilating like "No, you really can't" or "You know I'm going out with Ran" (Kudo's stupidity is at times immeasurable!), I continue in my most matter-of-fact voice: "Green, vanilla flavored? Or is it too late for that?"

"Anything is fine for me as long as it isn't coffee."

Green tea might impair the effects of APAH, too, if he drinks them together, which is why it would be a good idea to swallow APAH first, I suggest and hand him a glass of water with ten APAH-capsules, the only remaining ones I have left.

"Thanks," he beams at me and downs everything in one gulp.

Offering him one cup of tea, I take another for myself and walk over to the sofa where he joins me. The confusion between us gradually fades away after the first gulps of the fragrant tea, much to my relief; and we spend a few minutes beholding the patterns on our tea cups in comfortable silence until he suddenly fishes out a card from his jeans pocket and puts it on the table.

"I found this under the bench where you slept. Is it yours?"

I stare at the card in surprise. The ornate Ace of Spades looks similar to the card Kaito has given me and undoubtedly belongs to the same set. However, it is clearly the Ace of Spades, not the Queen I expected, unless...

I flip the card and there it is, the Queen of Spades. How could I have naively believed that Kaito had picked the wrong card? The realization that it might not have been an accident at all disappoints me for no logical reason.

"If it's not yours, I'm going to keep it then," Kudo remarks dryly and quickly grabs the card.

"It's mine," I protest, snatching it out of his hand. "Thanks for returning it to me."

"So, unless you've discovered your vocation as a magician, what are you using it for?"

"As a lucky charm... It's not like I really believe in it, but I like it." I turn the card to and fro in my hand. "It's pretty and stylish, and I'm sure I've never seen the design before."

"It's one of Two Lights' come-back merchandise," Kudo remarks. "On the backs of the two cards, which Kuroba removed when he glued them together to prevent the double-faced card from looking visibly thicker than normal cards, you could have seen Two Lights' silhouette in front of Tokyo's skyline."

"He told me he is having his debut at Two Lights' tonight. Perhaps the double-faced cards are a part of his tricks," I think aloud and could have bitten off my tongue immediately the moment I said it. Kudo, amused that I've fallen into his trap so easily, throws me a victorious look.

"So that's why you absolutely didn't want to go to Two Lights' with me: Kuroba is there."

"I don't feel like sitting there with both of you," I shrug. "You two always had this rivalry-love-hate thing going on, making everyone else feel like the fifth wheel next to you."

"I'm glad we didn't go," he says instead of protesting, and smiles at me. "I prefer sitting here with you and drinking tea to suffering at Two Lights' with Kuroba, a horde of Three Lights fans, some overpriced cocktail and my headaches gnawing at me."

I smile without saying anything in response, wondering whether he noticed that the way he said it implied that the thing which made a difference for him was actually APAH and not me. Either gallantry doesn't come to Kudo naturally or he simply enjoys paying me backhanded compliments. However, I'm not in the mood to bicker with him.

"Don't you think it's strange that Kuroba gave you the Ace and Queen of Spades as a lucky charm?" he asks after a while between two gulps of his tea. "Don't both of them mean rather negative things?"

"When it comes to cards, it's all according to your interpretation," I wave his comment off with a dismissive gesture, amused at the thought that perhaps Kaito did pick the wrong card. "I doubt that a double-faced card can change my life, but I like it nonetheless."

"It certainly has a sentimental value," he says quietly, thoughtfully.

I don't answer, not because I'm trying to avoid the topic but because I myself don't know whether the card has any sentimental value to me. Kaito has sent me other cards before, which had usually been drawn by himself and arrived on special occasions. Even though I keep them in a box because I like them too much to throw them away, I usually don't feel the need to look at them again, much less carry them with me. I have ceased to see a sentimental value in material things long ago.

However, tonight I feel strangely attached to certain places, things and people, as if the unnatural twilight and the stranger I met had reawakened some infantile feelings in me. I know I ought to leave the sofa to mix APAH so that Kudo can leave as soon as possible. But, for some strange reason, I feel reluctant to let him go. If I didn't know myself better, I'd believe that I'm trying to lengthen my time with Kudo, to stretch the hours I can spend with him into infinity as if our time together were a magical rubberband in one of Ayumi-chan's shoujo manga. And why? Just to make up for the one special sunset we could have spent together but missed? A ridiculous assumption when it comes to myself, who has spent her whole life studying the arts of staying detached and letting go.

"How did you know it's Kaito who gave me the card?" I ask instead, not bothering to call Kaito formally by his family name because I feel that I can no longer continue this futile game of hide-and-seek.

"Who else would give you a double-faced card?" The corners of his lips quirk up although he is keeping his eyes on his empty cup. "I only didn't expect that you're still seeing him."

"I'm not. We ran into each other while I was waiting for you. It's actually the second time such a thing has happened though you didn't send him as a replacement for yourself this time."

"I didn't send him the last time either," Kudo gloomily says, confirming my suspicion that he did see Kaito and me at Furuhata's two years ago. However, I can't tell why he hadn't shown himself that evening if that was the case.

"How did he find my apartment and knew it was my birthday? He told me he had learnt it from you."

Which is absolutely not true, Kudo protests. On my birthday (and according to Kudo's version of the story), they met by accident in the police station. It had been one of those difficult and practically unsolvable cases in which all of the witnesses were unreliable and all substantial evidence gone. A young woman who was recovering from her coma had died because somebody had pulled the plug to her life support system. Incidentally, the surgeon who had been in charge of the victim was Dr. Mizuno, the same who had attended to the Professor three years ago. Remembering that Kudo was a renowned detective, she gave him a call and asked for his help. He soon discovered that she had withheld important facts about the case from the police, thinking that she might have been mistaken and fearing that her witness account might ruin an innocent person's life. Kaito, who was an aquaintance of both the victim and the suspects, happened to have visited the victim a few hours before she died. Therefore Kaito, too, had been called to the police station to give his witness account before Kudo arrived.

"So he was one of your suspects? Or did you actually work together to solve the mystery?" I ask in amusement. Kaito and Kudo seem to be destined to get in each other's way.

"Neither, he wasn't a suspect because he didn't have a motive, apart from having a solid alibi. Two nurses recalled that the victim was still alive after he left. Five minutes after Kuroba left, the oldest brother of the victim — one of the suspects — entered the room and stayed there for half an hour. Only ten minutes and thirty seconds after Kuroba left, Kuroba arrived at Hakuba's place to help him renovate his apartment, according to Hakuba. Kuroba was still painting the walls when he was ordered to the police station to give his witness account. A perfect alibi, which Kuroba wouldn't even have needed since he didn't have any motive at all."

"So he wasn't your suspect. But I gather from your words that he didn't help you either."

"No, he wasn't very helpful, not that I'd have expected him to be. Anyway, he remarked that I seemed to be in a hurry to solve the case, so I told him I was in a hurry because I was visiting you."

He said it so casually, as a matter of fact, that I suddenly feel piqued by his nonchalanche. Leaving the sofa to mix APAH at the bar, I can't help but remark on the way: "But that doesn't really explain why you absolutely had to tell him that I was going to celebrate my birthday with you."

"I didn't know you'd have minded it. Are you ashamed of celebrating your birthday with me?" Kudo asks, looking confused.

"No, not really," I sigh, thinking that he has just unwittingly rubbed salt into my wound.

Like curtains being pulled back to show a hidden closet behind a supposedly empty wall, the reason for my frustration against Kudo has been revealed to me in all of its glorious stupidity. What's so special about a private birthday party once a year, anyway? I had treated it as if it had been a secret love affair, out of fear that other people could have misinterpreted it if they had known about the little promise I gave Kudo three years ago. The intimate nature of it had surprised me myself the moment I said it aloud. I ought to have treated it lightly, telling everybody else about it myself as if it hadn't been anything special to me, as if it had only meant to be a reunion of old acquaintances trying to stay in touch after they part. And above all, I should thank his forgetfulness and busy schedule for releasing both of us from what would have been an awkward long-term commitment.

He sighs.

"Let's put this straight: Kuroba already knew your address, the date of your real birthday and the fact that you didn't celebrate it even before he talked to me. Seems he had done a lot of research about you since the goodbye party in Osaka. I suppose he even managed to steal a look at your particulars by flirting with a secretary at university. Hence, when I said I was going to visit you, he immediately put two and two together and accused me of two-timing Ran. So I told him I wasn't two-timing anybody and that we only made our deal to celebrate your birthday after I deleted the files about you at Pandora's Box. I suppose he decided to visit you right then, taking advantage of the fact that I couldn't leave before finishing the case."

My anger vanishing, I almost feel sorry for Kudo, who was too innocent to be a match for Kaito with his an uncanny sense of when and how to push other people's buttons to get what he wants.

Since Kaito was free to leave whenever he pleased after giving his witness account, he was gone in no time, Kudo continues. He himself went to the hospital because he had yet to figure out a few details of the case. Before my eyes, I can see clearly Kaito strolling along the streets, whistling and looking out for flower shops on the way to my apartment. And it strikes me once again how inconsistent and fickle people — Kaito and Kudo included — can be. How funny that Kaito had been so eager to pursue me just to return to his childhood friend in the end.

Kudo has followed me to the bar and is now watching my hands attentively while I'm filling the capsules. He too, is behaving strangely today though I can't say what really bothers me about him. Perhaps — so I keep telling myself — he is just a little bit tired and subdued, which is natural considering how much he works. Any person with a less robust constitution would probably have died from lack of sleep and APAH-misuse long ago.

"Say, Haibara, have you ever heard the story of the ghost at twilight?"

I stare at him in amazement, wondering whether his question has only been part of my overactive imagination.

"Excuse me? I haven't been paying attention..."

"It's nothing," he says dismissively. "My brain isn't functioning properly these days. Must be either a side effect of your painkillers or the lack of sleep."

"Can't you simply repeat what you just said instead of insulting my painkillers?"

"Sorry... I just asked you whether you knew a ghost story," he says, looking embarrassed. "It's just something somebody told me a while ago, nothing important... Let's just forget what I said."

g.


	14. One thing I've learned

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to SN1987a, who is currently betaing this fic. I have a tendency to make my sentences as long and complicated as possible. Without her, the long sentences in this fic would have been much longer. XD**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**One thing I've learned...**

One thing I've learned about Kudo during my time as Haibara Ai is that it is no use trying to ask him about things he doesn't want me to know. Once Ran told me in resignation that the only way to find out what her boyfriend was hiding was to keep a weather eye on him and make an effort to guess his thoughts. An optimistic approach, with which she succeeded at times but more often failed miserably. In my opinion, there is a better way to sound Kudo out.

"You're trying to save the tale for your beloved Ran-nee-chan, aren't you?" I smirk at him. "It sounds like one of these corny saccharine stories about ghosts that return to the world of living and eternal love that lasts beyond the grave, things you could tell her while watching cherry blossoms together in Ueno-koen. Or have you already told her during a beautiful sunset?"

"No, and I can't believe I almost told _you_ about it," he glares at me. "It would have been utterly wasted on your cynical ears."

"I think my cynical ears have already heard about it, anyway. So, which version do you think Ran will like more? The love at third sight or the love that kills?" I ask and immediately regret that I have mentioned both versions to him.

"I don't think we're talking about the same thing," he remarks curtly, without trying to elaborate. Too eager to lure him out of his reserve, I must have overdone it because he only shoots another brief, irritated glance in my direction before leaving me for the sofa.

Not knowing whether I should be glad that he didn't ask me for my two versions of the story or whether I should be disappointed about my failure, I continue filling AHAH, telling myself that he is behaving like a diva tonight and that I pity Ran for having to deal with him.

However, curiosity tends to get the better of me whenever I'm bored, and there are few tasks more tedious than filling APAH...

"Well," I sigh. "What's so extremely cringeworthy about a simple ghost story that you can't tell me?"

"Nothing," he says. "... except that it's not the type of story you are interested in."

But I_ am_ interested in it, I assure him, especially because I think I know about it... or at least I do know a story about a ghost, which is also called "Ghost at Twilight"...

I certainly would never have even thought of telling Kudo about the ghost at twilight if he hadn't mentioned it on his own. And even now, after telling him that I know about it, I'm only recounting the stranger's version to him in exchange for his version, taking care to omit all traces of the version Gin had told me. I prefer talking to him about his private life and not mine, so telling Kudo about my version of the ghost story would have seemed to me like telling him intimate details about my past.

"I don't know that version," he says after I have finished, "but I prefer it to mine. The one I know is much simpler and less optimistic."

"Since I've told you the story I know, aren't you going to tell me your story?"

From the corner of the sofa, Kudo flashes a half-victorious, half-mischievous smile at me. And for a moment — despite my bad memory for faces — the image of the stranger I met tonight suddenly appears vividly before my eyes.

"You are dying to know it, aren't you?"

"I am, not because I want to hear a fairy tale but because there seems to be something so extremely embarrassing about it that you want to hide it from me."

He is not trying to hide anything, and there is nothing embarrassing about it, he insists vehemently, making me wonder whether I have accidentally hit a nerve while teasing him.

A person who has died during a special sunset can, if they are unable to let go of their past life, return to the world of the living for a day to say farewell to the person they loved, he finally tells me. The ghost stays for only one day, unnoticed by other people and its own love, and disappears during the following twilight. In a way, it is indeed about love beyond the grave if I wanted to take it literally...

"So... is it the sugary fairy tale you expected it to be?" he asks after an awkward silence. "Before you make fun of me, you should know that I didn't make it up."

No, I reply, thinking that hearing it feels anticlimactic after all the fuss he has made. It is only depressing and disappointing. "Why is it called Ghost at Twilight at all if the sunset doesn't even seem to play an important role in it? And what is so special about that sunset, anyway?"

"Because the sun doesn't go down before the pair meets," he says as a matter-of-fact, wiping away an invisible speck on his jeans.

"How handy," I laugh. "So, if they don't meet, the sunset would last forever?"

"Don't ask me," he smiles at me in relief, and I finally have an idea why he didn't want to tell me. It probably would have been less distressing to him if the sun had not happened to disappear just when we met.

"Who told you the story?" I ask him, pretending to be too immersed in the process of filling APAH to notice.

"A client who claims to be a witch," he says in a deadpan voice. "Her housekeeper lost her magic book, which I retrieved for her. She was so happy about it that she told me the story, asking me to repeat it to the first woman I meet during the last moments of a sunset..."

"... who happens to be me. At least it seemed to have been an interesting case," I laugh, knowing very well that he definitely made it up this time.

"And it was not as easy as it sounds... Some lunatics have a special talent to misplace things where you would never expect to find them. But who told you your story?"

Somebody I met in Ueno-koen while waiting for him, I tell Kudo. A stranger and I started a conversation because it would have been awkward to sit on the same bench for hours without saying a word.

"What's his name?" Kudo asks, returning to the bar to help me clean up my utensils now that I have filled the whole bottle and closed the lid.

"I don't know. But how come you know it was a man?"

"Because of the ghost story," he smiles to himself. "It was most likely a man who told you. How old was he?"

"About my age, only slightly older or younger than me. I'm not sure, though. He had the type of face which will probably look the same in twenty years."

"He was probably interested in you," Kudo grins, "that's why he made up the ghost story."

"Very unlikely," I remark, thinking that you usually don't tell a woman you like about the other woman in your life in the first minutes of your conversation. "He wasn't interested in me at all, at least not romantically."

"Really? I don't think so. His version of the story is the ideal one to pursue a pretty stranger one meets for the first time. Just tell her a romantic fairy tale about love at third sight and then make sure to run into her two more times before the sunset of the following day ends. Seems very smart and manipulative to me." Kudo happily snatches his new batch of APAH out of my hand before I can hand it to him. "Thank you. I wouldn't survive if it weren't for these... Concerning your mysterious stranger..." he gives me an ironic smile, "...at least his efforts show he was immensely interested in you although you didn't seem much interested in him if you haven't even noticed. Was he so unattractive?"

"On the contrary," I glare at Kudo, annoyed about his insinuation that I would have been interested in a good-looking man I've just met, "he was much too attractive for my taste. I've never had a thing for pretty boys, not even for actors and idols when I was small... But he also had a very beautiful voice and didn't say stupid things. I could have listened to him for days."

"You are strangely defensive about a random guy you've just met," Kudo thoughtfully remarks. "So he did run into you again after your first encounter?"

"No, he didn't," I smirk at him, ignoring the fact that I only met the stranger tonight (which still leaves plenty of time until tomorrow night before the next twilight ends) and that the stranger actually did ask for my telephone number.

"Are you disappointed that he didn't'?" Kudo asks with a chuckle. Luckily, he doesn't seem to be serious about it.

"Do I really seem so desperate for a boyfriend to you?" I frown at him with the most indignant face I can pull without looking ridiculous.

"No, but you are completely smitten with someone you don't know," he says solemnly. "Unreasonable infatuation doesn't suit you. I'd have never expected _you_ out of all people to fall in love at first sight."

We stare at each other in mock tension until I give in.

"Stop that nonsense now," I sigh. "It's getting ridiculous."

"Sorry," he smiles, giving my arm a friendly pat. "But it did sound real when you said you found him attractive."

"I did, and I've met plenty of other attractive people in my life. But beautiful people are to be looked at, not to be loved."

"I forgot that it's only his household skills which really count."

"How could you? Though I might sacrifice that for somebody with a nice and relaxed attitude."

He would never have expected me to say that, Kudo exclaims in genuine surprise. Aren't I the one who said that there is no one who could meet my expectations?

Sure, I shrug. But that doesn't have anything to do with the fact that I like laid-back people, and — unlike Ran — I wouldn't want a famous husband who is busy solving cases or infiltrating secret organizations all the time and whose mind is always occupied by things which are more important than me. If I had to give up my independence for someone — which I don't plan to! — I would rather be with a man who is wonderfully inconspicuous, normal, nice and easy to get along with.

Sounds rather dull, Kudo remarks, pouring himself and me each a glass of water. Knowing me, he thinks I would either die of boredom in no time or get a divorce.

"I've had enough suspense in my life, thank you," I take the glass of water from him, thinking to myself that he is right and that I would be bored to death. It seems even Kudo feels that I'm not made for a functional long-term relationship with a normal man.

"Say, during the time you were together... were you really in love with Kuroba?" Kudo suddenly asks while wiping some imaginary speck of dust from his sleeves. He always manages to surprise me with his unexpected fits of shyness, behaving like a teenager during moments which, in my opinion, are not even particularly embarrassing.

"Well, I wouldn't have gone out with him if I hadn't felt anything for him, would I?"

"No, probably not," Kudo agrees. "I only thought..." His voice trails off, and he walks over to his jacket in the corridor to put the bottle of APAH into his pocket, still lost in thoughts.

"What did you think?" I ask while instinctively following him into the corridor, wondering why he seems so curious and yet so evasive at the same time when it comes to anything concerning Kaito and me.

"Nothing," he replies cheerfully, in a voice which tells me that any further questioning will be of no avail.

g.


	15. A glance at my watch

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to SN1987a, who is currently betaing this fic. I have a tendency to make my sentences as long and complicated as possible. Without her, the long sentences in this fic would have been much longer. XD**

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**A glance at my watch...**

A glance at my watch shows me that it is already two a.m., time to throw Kudo out of my apartment and go to bed. However, he doesn't seem inclined to leave, as he has returned to his favourite corner of the sofa and is now sipping leisurely at his glass as if it contained an alcoholic drink. Due to my nap at Ueno-koen, I'm still wide awake and therefore not in a hurry to send him away either. Furthermore, there is still something I want to ask him, something which has been in the back of my mind for the whole evening.

"You told me you visited the culprit after noticing I wasn't home that night two years ago? Does it mean you didn't solve the case before you came?"

"Why do you ask?"

Sitting down next to him, I notice in surprise that he is blushing.

"Did you really come to my apartment before finishing the case?"

"It seemed like the best solution to me..."

That case had been lost from the beginning because he had arrived too late at the scene of the crime, Kudo explains to me. Without any substantial evidence left, he didn't manage to find an irrefutable proof for his theory and thus was unable to defend his deduction, which was based on circumstantial evidence alone.

"Since the culprit was living in your vicinity, I went to your place first."

"So you learnt I wasn't home, but how did you get the idea that I was at Furuhata's?"

"I didn't think of Furuhata's at all. I only knew Kuroba must have visited you before me, so I thought you two had gone out. Hence I decided to pay the culprit a visit and return to your apartment later. I thought he was so reasonable that I could talk with him and tell him to confess to the other suspects to clear up the situation."

"Apparently, you didn't succeed," I observe after a sidelong glance at his gloomy face. Now that I have enough information to deduce the reason why he is so evasive when it comes to Furuhata's, I don't even need to ask him when he actually returned to my apartment that night. It's embarrassing enough for both of us that he must have seen his double holding hands with me when we left Furuhata's or kissing me goodbye before going home. Kaito's disguise, on top of that, make matters infinitely worse. The only way for me to save face is to forget it and move on... and divert his attention away from the memory of it.

"No," he admits. "I didn't achieve anything. He only escorted me out of his apartment with the statement that he didn't have anything to say about my theories. Not a confession and not even an attempt at defending himself either."

"It's not like you to give up like that," I remark. As long as I can remember, Kudo has always managed to wring a confession out of a criminal.

He only sighs in reply.

"And it's not like you to let a culprit get away so easily... What happened to the law-obsessed detective I knew? First you deleted my files at Pandora's Box, then you let a murderer go without getting a confession from him."

Kudo looks up from his glass to shoot an infuriated glance at me.

"So you think I'm a case-solving machine? Law-abiding or not, I would never have handed you over to the police or to the FBI even if I had been sure that I could have negotiated with them. The cross-examinations would have been insufferable, especially since you would have had to lie about anything concerning APTX and Pandora's Box."

He jumps from the sofa and proceeds to the window to open it, letting a gush of wind in.

"Sorry," he says curtly, shutting the window again.

"A bit of fresh air won't hurt," I remark and walk to the corridor to fetch his jacket for him. "I can put on a cardigan."

When I return to the living room, I see him strolling out of my bedroom with one of my cardigans draped over his arm.

"Thanks," he says nonchalantly, handing me my cardigan while taking his jacket from me. He must have perceived it as the ideal excuse to walk over to my closet and have a look at how I'm decorating my bedroom. As always, when his curiosity gets the better of him, he doesn't know where to stop when it comes to the personal privacy of others.

Thinking that it's no use nagging at him because he never changes, I throw open the window and let the cool air in. The night is damp but eerily beautiful, with thick blueish clouds and a yellow moon.

To my surprise, Kudo switches off the light of the small chandelier above the sofa and proceeds to the bar to turn off all the other lamps as well.

"Because you don't have any curtains," he says. "You don't want mosquitoes and moths to come in. And it's not a good idea to illuminate your apartment in the middle of the night like that. Potential voyeurs and stalkers might get interested in you."

Suppressing the remark that he has become even more paranoid than me, I walk over to the bar to boil water for another cup of tea while he plants himself onto a bar stool.

"So why did you let the culprit get away?"

He doesn't answer immediately but only regards me with a thoughtful, tortured gaze. In the darkness of the room, which is now dimly illuminated by the light of the street lamps coming through the large window, with his pale skin and dark hair, he looks like a shadow of his former self.

"I used to ask myself the same question over and over again. One of the reasons was the fact that there was no conclusive evidence and I didn't want to plant any as a trap. He wasn't the type of murderer I wanted to put behind bars at all cost. From his point of view, he only got her out of a situation which was worse than death — despite knowing that his own promising future was at stake if he was discovered."

"So he didn't do it out of mercenary motives? At least you got that much out of him."

"I didn't get anything out of him, but it was obvious in the context of the situation. She would have been severely impaired — mentally and physically — for life after waking up from the coma. I can't even say I would have wanted a future like hers for anybody I knew either, but..."

"But nobody is supposed to end another person's life?"

"No, that's not what I meant, although we could discuss that topic to death if we wanted to. I wanted to say that there were three suspects and the unshakable truth that one of them must have pulled the plug. No matter how you look at it, that fact will not go away until someone confesses."

"So all of them have to lead the life of a suspect as long as the culprit hasn't been found?"

"Yes, and it's not fair. If you had done something out of the strong conviction that it was the right thing to do, you should have the gut to accept blame for it, at least in front of the people whose life you disturbed by your action, accidentally or not."

"Kaito told me they were celebrities, which is why the police was so discreet while dealing with them. They were probably so famous that I suspect he invented false names for them when he told me about the affair. Did it affect their careers negatively?"

"No, because they weren't in the spotlight anymore at that time and because it was hushed up pretty well by Ami-san—" (Mizuno Ami is Dr. Mizuno's daughter, a brilliant and yet diffident medicine student of my age whom Kudo and I met while visiting the Professor in the hospital.) "— but there is always the danger that, someday, someone will talk. Even you could easily find out their identities if you wanted to... The press won't leave them alone afterwards. As it always happens with rumours, things will be blown out of proportion... And after such an incident, I don't think their friends can ever trust them anymore."

Why, after all these years, does it still hurt to hear that little word out of his mouth, I wonder while pouring boiled water into our cups, trying to maintain my composure and feign indifference as well as I can. Never — so I told myself after the Professor's death — not even in my dreams, would I try to rewind time and return to Pandora's Box again. There is no way for me to regain his trust once it is lost, just as he can't take back the words which he meant wholeheartedly when he threw them at me. I had prepared myself for the consequences before we opened the door to the cabin, knowing exactly why it got its name. After making up at the Professor's funeral, we returned to being friends in the end, which is more than I could have expected from him. Why should I dwell on the past now? Even if I could turn back time, I would do the same things again. I have absolutely no regrets...

"That only explains why you needed a confession from him," I place a cup of tea in front of Kudo, "not why you let him go without accepting responsibility. You've never let your sympathy prevent you from solving a case before."

...But perhaps, says a treacherous voice in my head, he will understand if I tell him the truth, which I might have told him three years ago if it hadn't been for Hattori's presence. Afterwards, owing to our quarrel, his illness, my wounds and the Professor's accident and subsequent death, I couldn't find an opportunity to do so. And it's probably too late to bring it up now that it has become a thing of the past.

"I asked myself what I would have done if I had found myself in the same situation, if, at Pandora's Box, the first bullet hadn't missed your head but put you into a vegetative state instead," Kudo answers, tugging at his tea bag. "Perhaps even I would have considered the option."

"You would have pulled the plug to my life support system?"

"I don't know... Perhaps, in a weak moment, I would have considered doing it if I had been sure that you would have been mentally impaired after waking up."

I shrug.

"I certainly don't want to glorify what the culprit had done, but I know I wouldn't want to spend my whole life in such a dependable state. If I ever get into such a situation, you are free to pull the plug to my life support system for me."

"No, thanks," he smiles. "Even with your permission, I don't think I could do it... Anyway, I could have given the culprit a hard time if I had wanted to, but I didn't. There are ruthless natural killers and there are people who only stumbled into a situation they couldn't deal with and made the wrong choice. I thought he belonged to the latter category."

"What's about Mizuno-san's witness account? I thought she called you because she had noticed something?"

"Mizuno-san asked me to stop investigating after that night. She said she had changed her mind and wasn't going to give a witness account against him in any case. It seemed Ami-san had known the victim and her brothers and thought that the victim wouldn't have wanted it. Without any conclusive evidence, I would only have created a scandal, ruining the other suspects and Mizuno-san in the process. It simply wasn't worth it."

"So the game ended as a draw?"

"A draw? I feel like I've lost. But you can't always win when everything is against you. It wouldn't bother me so much if there wasn't something wrong about the case."

"Wrong?"

"You see, he wouldn't have lost anything at all if he had confessed. I didn't even ask him to turn himself over to the police. And since it was obvious that he didn't do it out of mercenary motives, he would have been a hero in the eyes of the other suspects. Not even Mizuno-san would have really minded."

"What's so strange about somebody who doesn't want to talk about his crime?"

"Criminals always want to talk about their secrets, especially when they are easy-going, extroverted and like to express themselves. He was such a person. There was no reason for him to be so secretive about it after I had told him all the details I knew."

"But why should he trust you?"

"I told myself that's the reason he didn't let the cat out of the bag, but it's still bothering me. I wish I had learned about the case sooner, before all evidence had been removed."

"Why didn't you continue to investigate it if it bothered you so much?"

"I didn't have time," he says as a matter of fact. "I come across more cases than I can handle. So I was busy with more important and urgent cases since then and couldn't continue such a lost case just for the sake of solving it. Sometimes I wish I had an assistant or a partner who can continue the case for me."

"Can't Hattori take over the case for you? I'm sure he would love to solve something you couldn't. Or the Detective Boys?"

"Hattori is drowning in work as well. Apart from that, he is a bad choice with his quick temper and his inability to please. The Detective Boys are too young. I want somebody who can sweet-talk the culprit into confessing... You know, I would have asked Ran if she weren't so gullible. She is great at acting when she wants to, and I think it would be easier for him to reveal the truth to a pretty girl than to me. But, as things are, I'm sure he would need less than two minutes to convince her that he is innocent and turn her against me."

So that was the reason he came to see me before finishing the case. While it is a bit disappointing, I admit it was foolish to assume that he had postponed a case to visit me on my birthday. It seems that, if it hadn't been for Kaito, he would have brought the mystery to me as a kind of birthday present.

"Don't even think of asking me," I remark after noticing his thoughtful gaze resting on my face. "I have better things to do as well, now that I know how you've been feeding on APAH for the past years."

"Oh, I didn't get that idea at all, knowing that you once succumbed to Kuroba's superficial charms," he mockingly retorts. "You could fall in love with the culprit and ruin everything."

"So you mean the culprit has Kaito's charms? If he is also one of those men good at doing household chores, I'm willing to sacrifice a bit of my free time to have a look at him."

"And overlook the fact that he pulled the plug to his sister's life support system? You have an atrocious taste when it comes to men."

While he said it in a humorous tone, there was a hint of annoyance in his voice which oddly raises my spirits. Dear meitantei-san's ego seems to be more fragile than I've thought.

"Not worse than Ran's," I laugh quietly. "Nobody is perfect, after all. And if I didn't know you better, I'd say you're jealous because you lack exactly that kind of charm."

"Very funny," Kudo grumbles.

The silence between us afterwards somehow reminds me of the silence before a storm, although I can't say whether it's only my overactive imagination or whether he feels the same. Through the open door to my bedroom, the even, dispassionate ticking of the clock on my bedside table seems to be getting louder in the silence, mingling with various sounds from outside... the wind, the trees, the sound of cars passing by... I can hear a heartrending miaow on the other side of the street. It's probably Luna, Dr. Chiba's black cat, again...

"Well," I say at last.

"Time to go to bed?" Kudo asks, standing up from the stool.

"Not for me. But you should really go home now because you look dead."

"I'm still very much alive, thank you," he yawns, "though not alive enough to walk home at this hour."

It wouldn't be the first time we spend the night in the same apartment. As Edogawa and Haibara, we had shared the same bed for many times out of necessity, and the last time we spent the night as Kudo and Miyano together was three years ago in Pandora's Box. We have never made a fuss out of it before, and perhaps he will think it idiotic and cruel of me to send him home at this hour, especially considering the fact that he has to return in the morning for the check-up. But the time when we were close friends and partners in crime is over... And while nothing could be as ridiculous as the thought of either of us molesting the other in our sleep, I don't think it is acceptable to let the boyfriend of another girl spend the night in my apartment.

"You can't sleep here," I tell him frankly. "Just think of what Ran would do to me."

Kudo, who is on the way to my bedroom, stops at once and raises an amused brow at me. He is blushing, yet his face is looking as if he were going to crack up at any moment.

"I wanted to say.. rather than walking home, I'd like to call a taxi now. Since mine is dead... May I use your phone?"

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	16. How many faux pas

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to SN1987a, who is currently betaing this fic. I have a tendency to make my sentences as long and complicated as possible. Without her, the long sentences in this fic would have been much longer. XD**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**How many faux pas...**

How many faux pas can one make during one single evening, I wonder, cursing myself for my mistaken assumption that he actually asked me for permission to spend the night in my apartment. But then again, I wouldn't continually make a fool of myself if it weren't for Kudo, who is sending out mixed messages, confusing me. Irritated and lost for words, I make for my bedroom to fetch my mobile phone for him while he takes off his jacket, murmuring something about not wanting to wear the heavy jacket now since it will take the taxi a while to come here.

"Don't you dare come into my bedroom," I warn him as he has followed me and is now standing at the door with one arm touching the frame above his head, his silhouette looking exactly the same as it was three years ago. Memory is surely an odd thing, storing all the unnecessary things you think you have forgotten, hiding them somewhere where you don't have any access to them. Then, out of the blue, all that is needed is just a little breeze or a familiar gesture, and it's all coming back to you, little unimportant details like the scent of the tea or the movie on TV... How come I still remember the weather so clearly? The night he took the permanent antidote was just like tonight, cool and damp, starless with a full moon hanging lonely in the sky.

"Why not?" he asks in disbelief.

Ignoring his silly question, I pull my mobile phone out of a drawer and hand it to him.

"Here."

"It's still locked. Is the code Ayumi-chan's birthday?"

"No, wait," I take it back to insert the four-digit code with my thumb while holding the phone upright and the screen away from him so that he can't see what I'm typing. It's already half-past two, probably time for me to go to bed as well if I've become so distracted that I even forgot to unlock my phone before giving it to him.

"You've got a lot of new mails," Kudo says, peering over my shoulder at the screen of my phone. Startled, I wonder how he has managed to sneak up behind me. In the years we didn't see each other, he seemed to have acquired the uncanny ability to move as silently as a cat and appear where I don't expect him.

None of your business. Don't read. Just call the taxi, I snap at him in disconnected sentences, pushing the phone towards him.

"Of course I won't read them," he says, looking puzzled. "What's wrong with you?"

Wrong with me? Why _me_ if he is the one snooping around in the bedroom of a woman who is not his girlfriend in the middle of the night?

I sigh, realizing that now I'm the one who is overreacting. With a vengeance, I can feel the typical post-antidote headache approaching and realize that I've foolishly given all of my remaining APAH capsules to him.

"I think I'm having a headache, too. Can you give me a capsule of APAH?"

Kudo fetches the bottle of APAH, generously hands me two capsules and a glass of water and takes out about ten to twelve capsules for himself, which he devours all at once. I should really find a new way to feed him APAH because there is no sense in filling those small capsules for him if he doesn't even count them.

Before my eyes, I can see an older version of him in ten years — haggard, with a beard, ruffled hair and swollen eyes — talking to one child or two: "Daddy must visit Auntie Shiho now to ask for more painkillers before we can go to Tropical Island together. Please wait for me for an hour, I'll be back in no time..." before running off and coming back seven hours later: "I'm so sorry, I had to solve a case on my way. But we can go to Tropical Island tomorrow..."

"You know, I actually think it will be better if you make APAH on your own," I tell him after taking the two capsules he gave me. "If we need to change something about the formula, I can give you a new copy tomorrow after the check-up."

"Oh no," he exclaims. "You know I could never mix it on my own."

"If you can't mix it on your own, you will always depend on me." I try to be patient, reminding myself that I'm talking to a man who has been waited on hand and foot for the past three years. "The copy of the formula I gave you with the antidote... do you still have it?"

"Yes," he sighs. "It's in a drawer in my desk, or so I think. You just reminded me that I need to declutter my drawers because nothing fits into them anymore."

"What about getting a secretary? Anyway, I'll print you another copy just in case you lost the previous one. You can read it here and ask me if there is something you don't understand."

He impatiently waves my suggestion away.

"I already read it when you gave it to me. I could assist you and help you make APAH if you like. But you know what happens whenever I try to cook on my own... It's not like I've never tried to mix APAH before. I did it once." He shudders at the remembrance.

"Then try it again since it obviously didn't kill you," I remark without pity. "You're only lazy because you've been spoiled by Ran."

That's true, he admits. Still, he really can't prepare food for the life of him. And it's definitely not laziness because he has no problems doing the laundry and cleaning the house. Cooking, however, is something entirely different. If he were single, he would have to visit the restaurants in Beika regularly.

Making APAH is not cooking, I insist. But if he wants to think of it like that, he should just think of it as only one dish. Anybody can learn to prepare one dish well if they've practised it long enough, and it will take him only half an hour in the morning. I hesitate for a moment before adding decisively: "You will have to learn it whether you want to or not because I'm not going to mix it for you anymore."

Ignoring his shocked expression, I disappear into my bedroom, open my laptop and connect it to the printer while he walks up and down in front of the door, probably fretting about the thought of having to fill the hundreds of APAH capsules on his own.

"Are there still any good restaurants in Beika?" I casually ask, thinking that they all have had to make way for new shopping centres and fast food stores.

"There are still three," he says quietly, stopping at the door, "if you count the Poirot."

There is something in his voice — a nostalgic undertone? — which makes me stop and look at him. He has seemed rather pensive since we arrived at my apartment, which I have blamed on his sleepless nights and APAH addiction. But now I wonder if something else has happened to him which he has yet to tell me.

"Just spill the beans, Kudo," I prefer a blunt approach because we are running out of time. "What's wrong with you?"

"Wrong with me?" he pretends to be clueless.

"Listen, I can't put my finger on it, but something is bothering you. Unless it's something confidential you can't talk about, why don't you just tell me now before you go?"

Kudo is gazing down at me with an intense expression, apparently wondering whether to tell me his secret or not.

"There is something, but I don't know if it's really the reason I feel so utterly drained since my nap at home... Perhaps I'm only getting sick."

"Anybody would get sick if they don't get enough sleep," I remark. "But what's that something which is bothering you so much?"

A smile momentarily lights up his face before it disappears and he seems serious again.

"There is something in your hair," he says.

I raise my eyebrow at him.

"Don't try to distract me with such a cheap trick, Kudo. Just spill it already."

He bends forward and tugs at my hair with two impertinent fingers, removing a tiny petal which probably belonged to a cherry blossom.

"I thought it was a bug," he says apologetically. "Well, I didn't know whether I should tell you before Ran makes it public or not, but you are going to learn it from either Ran or Suzuki anyway... Ran is going to Osaka next month."

"For Hattori's wedding?"

"No, not only for that... She is going to teach karate there. She plans to stay there for a long time."

So that's the true reason for his melancholy... the prospect of a long-distance relationship for who knows how many years. Why Ran even considers leaving him for Osaka is a mystery to me. Hasn't she told Sonoko and me once that she wouldn't be able to wait for him again? Having had to wait for him for too long when he was shrunk, her capacity to wait for him seems to have been sucked dry after his return. Furthermore, being with someone like Kudo means having to live in a state of constant worry about his safety whenever he was not present.

"Why Osaka and not Tokyo?"

Three years ago, on the bus to the hospital where Hattori and I had been admitted to after the downfall of the Organization, Ran protected an elderly lady from a thief who tried to steal her handbag, Kudo tells me. Afterwards they spent the rest of the journey chatting with each other, and it turned out that the husband of the lady was a karate master who didn't know what to do with his dojo after his retirement because, in his opinion, the few students of his who had the necessary skills didn't have the necessary strength of character to be his successor. Ran, who had been good friends with the wife since the incident, had visited the dojo a few times and taken a few lessons from him. He seemed to be extremely pleased with her since, a few weeks ago, he asked her to take over the dojo.

While Kudo knew that it's quite an honour to get such an offer at such a young age, he didn't expect that Ran would actually go. He had taken it for granted that she would stay in Tokyo because of him.

"I wouldn't have expected it either," I agree with him. "It's not only you, but she is so extremely protective of her father as well... I thought she would want to stay here to take care of him because he would drink himself to death without her."

"Ah, that," Kudo waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Her mother has told Ran that, if Ran goes to Osaka, she would sacrifice herself to make sure that the fool doesn't starve or drink himself into his grave. Needless to say, that only strengthened Ran's decision to go, especially now that Suzuki is going to leave Tokyo, too."

"And what are you going to do about it? I don't think it's good for you two to endure the long-distance thing. It usually doesn't work..."

He slowly shakes his head at me, looking desperate.

"No, it's not that," he says, turning abruptly. "We've never considered a long-distance relationship at all..." I hear his voice saying as he hurries to the sofa. "... I'm actually going with her to Osaka."

The earth seems to have stopped spinning with just one sentence. And it suddenly dawns on me that I, too, have always taken it for granted that Kudo would stay forever in Tokyo. The thought of him going away has never, not for once, entered my mind.

People are moving all the time, says a voice in my head. It's not like you will never see him again. Also, Osaka is not as far away as London or New York. They will certainly come back to visit her parents once in a while, and friends who are not direct neighbours — you, for instance — probably won't even notice that they are gone.

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	17. For you

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**For you...**

For you, Kudo belongs to Beika like the cherry trees to Ueno-koen or the ducks to Shinobazu no Ike, which is why you have always associated Beika with Kudo and vice versa. You have expected him to stay in Beika for life like an indigenous plant because, well, that's where he is supposed to be.

Judging from his frame of mind tonight, you deduce he isn't happy about leaving Tokyo either, which makes you wonder once again why Ran has resolved to go. If Ran had been more devoted to karate or if Kudo had been overjoyed at the prospect of going away, you wouldn't have had any doubts about their decision to exchange Beika for Osaka in view of such a rare opportunity. But since Ran, according to her own words, has never intended to turn karate into a career and because (this came out of her own mouth as well!) caring for her family and Kudo is her top priority, you can't imagine why she would want to leave Tokyo if Kudo obviously doesn't want to. It seems she naively believes that her parents would return to each other after she is gone, failing to think of the obvious outcome that such a pair would immediately split up again when the first problems arise. Fire and ice don't suit each other, you think. Accepting that fact will save everyone a lot of unnecessary heartache and time...

"...APAH... I'm going to visit you once in three months to fetch them..."

Lost in your thoughts, you haven't paid attention to what Kudo has said until he brought up APAH. But no sooner did you hear him mention its name than you snap out of your trance.

"So, after you've gone to Osaka, we're going to see each other more often than now?" you ask, walking to the bar to pour yourself another glass of water. "But I told you I won't make you APAH anymore."

"Come on, you have it down to a fine art whereas I'm a hopeless case when it comes to those things." Resorting to bribery in his desperation, he adds with a smile which could melt ice: "I'll make it up to you on your birthdays. We can do whatever you want together."

The words which could have been mistaken for an outrageous double entendre sound from Kudo's lips like things a babysitter would tell the troublesome child they have to appease until its parents come home. Even Gin, exasperated by the ardent display of affection with which you showered him when you were three or four, had once told you something like: "If you're a good kid and leave me alone tonight, we can go out tomorrow and do whatever you like..."

"No matter how you beg, my answer will still be 'No'. I'm only doing this because I feel responsible for your well-being. You can't forever depend on me."

Thinking that it will be difficult for him to visit you on your birthdays when he is in Osaka if he already has a hard time doing it in Tokyo, you add in a sudden fit of selfless generosity: "In return, I can free you from our deal concerning my birthday if you like. Just keep in touch and give me a call from time to time."

Rather than agreeing with you as you would have expected, Kudo doesn't reply. In fact, he is so silent that all you can hear are the usual sundry sounds of the night, faraway steps and hushed voices of people walking on the other side of the street, the obnoxious ticking of the clock in your bedroom and the rustle of the cherry trees in the wind.

Worried, you put down your glass and turn around to look at him, meeting his thoughtful and strangely sad gaze.

"Didn't you mean to say that you would like to free yourself from our deal?" he asks. "Spending your real birthday with me was your promise to me after I deleted the files on you, not vice versa. What is it about meeting me once a year that disturbs you so much?"

"Nothing," you shrug, sitting down next to him. "It's just the run of bad luck you always bring. My life is peaceful when you are not around."

"Mine is peaceful, too, when I don't see you," he remarks calmly, reminding you of his capability to sound composed and bitter at the same time. "You have a habit of turning my life upside down and messing with my mind every time we meet... One moment you are amiable and generous, the epitome of kindness, and the next moment you would suddenly decide to trample on my feelings with a smile. Do you really have to make it so obvious for me that you would rather not see me again?"

Trample on his feelings? How could he say that to you if it is him who overslept your dinner, ruined your evening and kept you up all night to fill hundreds of APAH capsules which he could have made on his own, you ask in disbelief, skipping the part that he invaded your privacy by rummaging through your closet because he wouldn't understand what's wrong about it, anyway.

"I didn't know that's how you feel about tonight," he says quietly. With a pang of guilt, you look at him in frustration, wondering how an evening which has started with such a gorgeous sunset could have turned into such a bitter disappointment.

"Listen," you tell him. "I don't mind waiting for you on my birthdays as long as you really come. But this eternal waiting in vain drives me insane. You always ruin my birthdays for me."

"Not always. I spent your last birthday waiting for you in your apartment, too, because you intentionally stood me up. Out of the two birthdays I missed, I only missed the first because I was held hostage by a mass murderer and the second because I had to meet Mizuno-san, who didn't have time later in the evening. When I came to your apartment, Kuroba had already taken advantage of the situation..." his voice trails off, and he frowns at the memory.

"But since I was waiting for you that night, I wouldn't have gone out with him if I had known that you would come," you reply quickly before he can dwell on the thought.

"I called you... But I can never get hold of you because you always turn off or misplace your Detective badge and your mobile phone."

"I think I've developed a hatred against it since the students at university began to bother me. But you could have sent me a mail... And you didn't only stand me up because of your cases... You forgot me during the first anniversary as well, do you remember? Later I learned that you had been watching photos and videos with Ran all day."

"What anniversary?" he stares at you in surprise.

The downfall of the Organization, you look at him in bewilderment, wondering whether he is being deliberately obtuse or whether APAH has erased parts of his memory. "Don't tell me you've already forgotten it."

"I remember it very well," he says darkly, "and I remember you said that we could celebrate it together on the train to Osaka. But I didn't know you still wanted to celebrate it after what happened between us at Pandora's Box."

You gaze at each other in dismay, realizing that, despite your efforts to pretend it never existed, your past relationship at Pandora's Box is as ignorable as the elephant in the living room.

"Sorry," he says at last. "I don't know what's wrong with me tonight. The prospect of leaving Tokyo is getting to me."

"I don't know what's wrong with me either," you admit, sitting down next to him.

He smiles at you in relief, giving your arm a friendly nudge, and you smile back, thinking that you two have got worked up about nothing at all. Trampling over his feelings? Forgetting anniversaries? An outsider passing by your window would think what you were having was a lover's quarrel.

"Perhaps I'm in such a bad mood because, on the way to Ueno-koen, I witnessed an accident," you admit, taking a sip from the glass on the table before remembering that it is actually his, "The victim was a boy, about nine or ten years old. I told myself accidents always happen... But then I saw his football lying there... And there were his little friends crying on the other side of the street, two girls and two boys of his age. Somehow, I was reminded of us when we were still with the Detective Boys. The boy looked a bit like you..."

Even to your ears it sounds desperate and wistful, resembling an admission of a hopeless love. The night he returned to his original size, you two had sat on the same sofa in the Professor's house together, discussing whether you should take the permanent antidote or not. How many pills did you make, he asked you, and it took you a moment to answer that, although you weren't sure you would take the antidote, you had made two, one for him and one for you. Relieved that you, too, could return to your original body at once, he didn't notice the small pause before you answered... Or did he notice and didn't guess its meaning? By the look of things, he has never found out that you had been lying.

Inwardly cursing your vulnerability, you get up from the sofa to return to the bedroom. Jumping up as well, Kudo makes a gesture to hold you back but accidentally grabs your leg instead of your arm and, in his embarrassment, pulls his hand away so forcefully that he wipes the glass out of your hand in the process, causing it to shatter on the floor.

"Oh great, now I've even begun to wreck your apartment," he says before you can say it, and you laugh at each other, gingerly moving around the shards of glass and the spilled water.

"There are a lot of memories for me in Tokyo, too," he says, poking at one of the larger shards with a long finger. "I can't believe I want to stay in one city for life at my age, but I really don't want to go."

You know that he doesn't, but who are you to tell him what to do? Torn between one thing and the other, one can either choose the easy way out or the one which matters more. When you were small, Akemi-nee-san once showed you a method she always applied when she felt indecisive: Just toss a coin and let it decide the outcome for you, then either act according to it or, if it feels horribly wrong, rebel against the decision.

However, how could you give Kudo the same advice, knowing that Ran is involved? While you aren't the most loyal person in the world, even you feel that you would be backstabbing Ran if you told him to consider an option which entails leaving her.

"I've run out of kitchen rolls, but there is a rag in the bathroom," you tell Kudo instead. "I'm going to print out the formula now because it's late."

"Does it mean I'm allowed to enter your bathroom again?" he asks in mock shyness.

"You are even allowed to use it if you want," you smirk at him. "Just make sure you keep things in order so that I don't have to clean up after you." Then, deciding to play the role of the coin for him, you casually add: "Just look on the bright side: You'll always find new cases even in Osaka. If you feel like coming back for a visit, it's only a few hours by train. Take care of yourself, and don't expect me to make APAH for you."

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* * *

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**Blinking at the screen...**

Blinking at the screen with tired eyes, you print out the formula before disconnecting the laptop from the printer and shutting it down. Three o'clock in the morning and he is still in your apartment, you think, utterly exhausted from the ups and downs of the evening. You can't even remember whether he has called the taxi at all.

In the meantime, he has returned to his favourite corner of the sofa after wiping the floor and discarding the shards of glass, according to what you can hear. He is extremely efficient whenever he wants to be, using his terrific brain and quick reactions to excel at almost anything. Hence, to you, his weakness in simple things like cooking, along with his atrocious singing voice and his inability to communicate with you, will always remain a mystery.

"After taking the antidote, I often wondered what would have happened if you hadn't been able to create it," says his voice from the sofa, sounding huskier than usual as if he has either caught a cold or is falling asleep. "Sometimes I think I would solve my cases faster if you were still around. Back then you were pretty good at making random remarks which put me on the right track."

If you weren't sure that his thoughts were wandering, you would have received the wrong impression and believed he just tried to say that he missed you. However, as you have repeatedly misunderstood his intentions tonight, you are not going to make the same mistake again.

"I don't have the impression that you've lost your edge, though," you remark. "Do you really consider the case you told me about such a dismal failure?"

He doesn't say anything in reply, but only yawns and moves a little in the sofa, as you can hear the rustle of his jeans and shirt as they are rubbing against the sofa cover.

"Say, have you even called the taxi yet?"

"... too bad you couldn't marry me?... but you were the one who..." he mumbles sleepily, apparently refering to your joke earlier when he told you that even he could make himself useful when it came to household chores.

Who what? Ruined it? At the Professor's grave, you had promised each other to carry on with your friendship as if nothing had ever happened. Something which didn't last even for a night didn't count, and it seemed easy enough for him to run back to Ran and pretend that he had never thought of another girl besides her. Why does he have to touch on it now when it seems so far away, even further than your childhood crush on Gin, as if it had happened in bygone days of a different era?

It's not like him to talk about the past so freely, but you know him well enough to notice that he tends to let his guard down when he goes to sleep. Walking to the sofa with the formula in your hand, you are not surprised to see that he is indeed sleeping, lying on the side with his head resting on one arm of the large sofa and his long legs draped over the other, looking as lifeless as a corpse in the dim light.

Grabbing your mobile phone, which Kudo has left on the table, you check the past calls log to convince yourself that he hasn't called the taxi yet. For a moment, you seriously consider calling a taxi for him, waking him up, handing him the formula and sending him home. But when you touch his arm a few times and notice that he is sleeping so soundly he doesn't even react, you automatically walk into the bedroom to get him a blanket instead.

It has become so late that the few hours more or less he spends in your apartment really doesn't count, you try to justify yourself while throwing the blanket over him, ignoring the thought that you should have foreseen this kind of situation when he asked you to let him wait in your apartment. From past experience, you know that Kudo's exhaustion and lack of social skills (at least when it comes to you) could induce him to settle himself onto your sofa and simply stay there. Even though you can say with a clear conscience that you haven't encouraged him in any way, you must admit that you didn't make an effort to prevent this outcome. Deep down, you don't want him to go, perhaps because you are terrified of being alone and exposed to your own mind in a night like tonight, when all the ghosts of your past suddenly decide to come back, haunting you.

Yet, having a sleeping person in your apartment is not the same as having a waking one, who can talk to you and distract you from pondering destructive thoughts. And you suddenly miss the stranger and his uncanny ability to tempt you into revealing your innermost feelings, facing the wildest waves while keeping you on the safe shore. You and he were like ships that passed in the night, and even though you didn't know each other, you were honest to him most of the time, and there was only one thing (or were there two things?) about which you lied.

_He is going out with a girl he has been in love with since they were six. You can be sure that he doesn't have any feelings for me._

Perhaps that wasn't a complete lie because you really believed that, after three years, that's all what remained between Kudo and you. Before you learnt that the reason for his sadness was leaving Tokyo, you would never have guessed that a part of him might still be clinging to the past, just like a part of you.

_"I know that's just wishful thinking, but it's still a very comforting thought,"_ were the stranger's words...

Who are you kidding, you think, smiling at the sleeping form on the sofa. Seeing him so seldom, you have almost forgotten what a pleasant sight his face can be. Want to spend a night at my place before you go away, you ask him, pleased that he can neither hear it nor reply. Then lets continue to pretend that friendship is all that ever existed between us, don't touch upon Pandora's Box, and let sleeping dogs lie.

Stepping onto the balcony to clear your mind, you let your eyes roam over the sky and the neighbourhood until you stop in surprise. In front of Dr. Chiba's open door, two people are standing, talking quietly about something you can't overhear while Luna is sitting on the shoulder of the young woman, rubbing her head against the woman's long blonde hair. Illuminated from different angles by the light inside the house, the lamps in the garden and the lanterns on the street, the profiles of both the woman and the man are clearly visible even in the middle of the night. As he pats her lightly on her blonde buns (odangos?) and she bids him goodbye with a smile before she disappears behind the door, you think who would have thought that they know each other, the blonde woman sitting next to you in the bus and the stranger you met at twilight.

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	18. What are the odds

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**What are the odds...**

What are the odds that two people who met by chance for the first time during a sunset run into each other again at night in a different district of a city as large as Tokyo? Nevertheless, with this stranger and you, nothing seems beyond the bounds of possibility. Ayumi-chan would probably tell you that he is your personal genie or your fairy godfather, materializing in front of your eyes whenever he is needed.

But now that your fairy godfather has reappeared and is available for your use, you suddenly become conscious of the fact that there are actually social norms to follow when it comes to dealing with a man whose name you don't even know. As much as you want him to keep you company in a night like tonight, you can't possibly ask him for it without giving him a misleading impression of your intentions, not counting the problem of finding a bar in Azabu Juuban which is still open at such an hour. Inviting him into your apartment is out of the question even without Kudo on your sofa; and the last option, chatting with him on the street in the middle of the night, doesn't seem like a satisfactory solution to your problem either.

Will he regard you as impertinent if you run down and talk to him at such an hour on the pretext of inquiring about your handbag, you wonder, undecided about how to approach your mystery man without irritating him or waking up the whole neighbourhood. Starting a conversation with a nice stranger who is sitting on the same bench as you at six p.m. is certainly not the same as bothering the same man at three a.m., especially when he just left the house of a married woman (Is their relationship really as platonic as he described it?) and is in a hurry to go home.

In the end, your worries turn out to be completely unfounded, for he takes the decision out of your hand as all good fairy godfathers do. Striding down the street, he appears to be lost in thoughts until he passes the azalea shrubs in front of your balcony. There, underneath the old lantern — and for no discernible reason — he suddenly stops dead in his tracks and turns round, looking up as if he had instinctively known that you would be there.

"I knew we would see each other again," he says, smiling at you across the fence, the azalea shrubs and two branches of a cherry tree, "but I didn't expect that it would be so soon."

His beautiful voice, melodious and clear, resonates through the now deserted streets; and you discover in surprise that you are strangely delighted to hear it again.

"I didn't expect that we would meet a second time," you remark. "After all, you haven't even told me your name."

For a moment, the stranger only gazes at you in amazement as if you had said something out of the ordinary. He has completely forgotten about it, he replies in a matter-of-fact voice, because he can't remember the last time he had to introduce himself to another person. Moreover, he realized only after leaving that his private mobile number is not listed in the phone directory.

"I don't know what's wrong with me tonight. Forgetfulness seems to be my second name."

"Now that you've told me your second name, what about telling me your first?" you raise your brow at him. "Or are you so infamous that you can't say your name aloud in public lest anyone hears you?"

There must have been something quite hilarious in what you said, because he only shakes his head and covers his face with his palms, his shoulders shaking slightly as if he were laughing.

"What's so funny?" you ask in bewilderment.

"Sorry," he chuckles, shooting you an amused, not-at-all-apologetic-looking smile. "Well, you look still wide awake just like me. Would you like to go out with me for a drink or a dance tonight?"

"Dancing at three a.m.?" you stare at him, aghast. "Is there anything open besides the lap dance night clubs? No, thank you."

"Two Lights' is still open tonight," he says. "There was a surprise party with a small magic performance by Kuroba Kaito. I think it will last until four or five."

"The performance?" Didn't Kaito tell you that it was supposed to be at midnight?

"No, the performance is over and Kuroba has already left. I meant that the party is still going on."

"How was the performance?"

"Impressive, though it was short and only meant to promote Kuroba's show next month. There were a few very nice card tricks between surprise appearances and disappearances of the magician. Kuroba is extremely talented..." He winks at you with a smile. "... if only he didn't have such a fear of fish..."

Startled, you only give him an inquiring look, unsure about whether he could have guessed it so fast without knowing you.

"Kuroba is an acquaintance of mine," he explains. "We've known each other for a while. I can't believe I never noticed he has a fish phobia before tonight, but when I saw how he reacted to the fish we ordered, I immediately thought of you..." He gives you a little wicked grin. "I should have guessed it before knowing about his fish phobia. Kudo Shinichi and he are like two peas in a pot after all."

Out of all people in the world, you had to confide in this person, who can be curiously sensitive and yet indiscreet at the same time, with an uncanny awareness of how far he can go without pushing your button. Even his last line doesn't irk you as much as Kaito's accusation did, perhaps because it was the logical conclusion any bystander would have come to.

"Do you often go out to party all night?" you ask, changing the subject. He had not seemed like a party animal to you when you first met.

"No, not so often," he replies. "But I've just been dumped and don't want to sit home alone, especially at night when I can't torture the drums for fear of disturbing the neighbourhood."

Despite knowing the emotional impact it doubtlessly has on his life, you can't help but marvel at the absurdity of the situation. Basically, he is asking a woman he barely knows for a rendezvous at three a.m. to distract him from thinking of his lamentable love life while the woman he asked has planned to do exactly the same to him.

"How have you been dumped?" you ask, wondering whether his unrequited love was in reality an illicit love affair.

For a moment, his face clouds over with sadness so deep that it tugs at your heart. But then he gives you an unexpected, dazzling smile; and you are suddenly reminded of Akemi-nee-san, who had the same bright smile and carefree attitude, and who also smiled at you like that when you met her for the very last time.

"I was told that people had begun to talk and that we should no longer meet regularly. Now the setting has been changed, and we are going to meet up in cafés or ice cream parlours once in a blue moon, preferably with at least one of her friends as a chaperone... Moreover, it seems they are planning to become a little family. I would only ruin it for her if this situation continues. But I don't think we should talk about it here where people might overhear us..."

"I'm sorry to hear that," you say, feeling helpless because you realize how little your remark is worth in his hopeless situation.

"Why, you shouldn't be. After the initial shock, I was rather flattered about her thinking that our little walks endanger her marriage. It means a lot to me."

"That's even more depressing," you sigh, deciding that there is no sense in following convention with a guy like him. "You are treading on the line between optimism and lunacy."

"I'll take it as a compliment," he smiles. "So, if you feel awake enough to stay up all night... Would you mind coming with me?" A mischievous expression flits across his face. "Or shall we continue this balcony scene à la Shakespeare instead, with the part when you tell me that a rose would _'smell as sweet by a different name'_?"

He has recited the little quote in a soft, husky whisper, his attitude completely molded into that of the young girl in Shakespeare's famous play. Even his voice has become perfectly feminine, possessing a timbre which sounds completely different from the voice he used before and which even in your ears resembles your own. Staring at him in speechless astonishment, you realize that, despite flattering yourself that you wouldn't label him anything, you have pigeonholed him as "the cheeky stranger pining away for a married woman" right after your first meeting. The fact that he has amazing acting skills and can change his voice like Kaito confuses and disturbs you, making you wonder whether behind his carefree and boyish shell a much stronger personality is hiding.

A sudden creak from your landlady's apartment beneath your balcony breaks the stunned silence, and the stranger fixes his gaze at the source of the sound with an alert look on his face. Another creak soon follows, accompanied by muffled sounds of movements, shuffling footsteps and the familiar rustle of your landlady's crisp tafetta curtain. The stranger takes a cautious step away from the fence; and for a moment, you get the dreaded feeling that he will simply turn around and disappear.

Much to your relief, he looks up and smiles at you instead, indicating with an airy gesture that he will be waiting for you under the other cherry tree in the corner of the garden, whispering something like "Come down..."

Retreating silently into the living room, you carefully shut the window and the door to the balcony. As expected, Sleeping Kudo is still stretched out on your sofa in a deep slumber, for once completely oblivious to the things happening around him. Amused, you think to yourself that a few things about him haven't changed. When he is really exhausted, one could steal his covers or even the bed or whatever he is lying on without him caring.

Proceeding to the sofa to behold Kudo's sleeping face for the last time, you stand still for what seems like an eternity, wondering whether you are doing the right thing. The peculiar sunset, the accident, Kudo's lateness and the chance meetings with this charismatic stranger have brought about a few changes to your state of mind which, though still subtle and hard to grasp, are deeply unsettling.

When you come down now, will it be the second or the third time you meet him, you wonder and then decide that it would still be the second, not that it really matters to you. Second or third meeting, magical twilight or not, despite Kaito's warning and Kudo's remark that the stranger told you his version of the ghost story for a particular reason, you are desperate for company who can distract you from the old wound which was supposed to have healed nicely but is in danger of being opened again.

From Kudo's face, your gaze drift to the mobile phone, which you have left on the coffee table because you have grown accustomed to leaving it at home instead of carrying it around. What would he say if he found out that the only souvenir you've kept from Pandora's Box is still there, a vivid reminder of the fact that love doesn't conquer all?

_"... although I'm racked with guilt, the one thing I'm sure of is that I love you..."_

The pit-a-pat of the rain and the crashing of the waves mingle with his voice at your ear while on the screen of the black box on your lap, the "Delete" button is blinking rapidly, with the timer counting down "seven, six, five, four, three..."

_"... Despite our differences, can you imagine spending your life with me?... Wait, I hear Hattori coming. I'll be with you in a sec. Just stay there and wait for me."_

In your memory, you can see Miyano Shiho hesitating for an instant before she finally taps on the blinking red button. The screen blackens before the deletion is confirmed and the wallpaper reappears: a Greek lady in front of a jar whose lid is partly opened and out of which evil apparitions are flying...

"Alright," she replies calmly into the phone although he has already hung up. "Come down."

Perhaps it was a small price for freedom, security and peace, and he would never have found out if you had not closed the lid of the box without noticing that the pendant of your necklace has got caught in there. It was an unbelievable run of bad luck that he had to appear right when you had removed your necklace and opened the lid again to get the stuck pendant out. Of course one glance at the black box was all he needed to grasp the situation.

_"I knew there must be another Pandora's Box apart from the cabin, but I didn't expect that you were the one who hid it from me."_

You should have thrown the old phone away after it died, drowned in the water which had seeped into the pocket of your jacket when you were washed into the sea that night. Instead, prompted by a masochistic desire to keep the recording without listening to it again, you had the data recovered and copied to both your laptop and your new mobile phone.

It is really so hard for him to guess the reason for your ever-changing moods when he is concerned? After the Professor's funeral, he stayed behind with you to talk, to exchange civilities and even apologies about all the wrong things both of you had done. Just like hurtful words, one friendly remark led to another until your previous friendship was prettily patched up. He was even fair enough to tell you in advance that he would be trying to make everyone happy by turning back time and return the old Shinichi to Ran, and you remember thinking it was only poetic justice that you would ultimately lose what you had taken away from her to her in the end. However, the reconciliation left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth, and you are glad you've had enough self-control to not listen to the recording again.

You know it was you who ruined it, but you don't know what else you could have done. Wasn't it right to decide that you would rather lose him and keep him alive than have him dead in your arms? Even if he forgave you for the one thing which was the reason for your break-up, he would never be able to forgive you if he knew about the secret you are still hiding. Unlike the childhood crush between Ran and him, the attachment between you and Kudo was an attraction between incompatible individuals poles apart.

How did he get the idea that you suffered less than him because it was you who betrayed his trust? Betrayal is a double-edged sword, but then in desperate times, one doesn't really have the luxury to choose one's weapon.

You are not the type to wait forever while nurturing foolish hopes. Tonight, sitting with you in your apartment, he might have become a bit sentimental at the prospect of leaving Tokyo. But tomorrow night, he is going to fetch Ran from the train station and forget about you as he always does.

Why should you hold on to the past, you think, especially if, in relation to the present and immediate future, the past no longer has any meaning? What really matters now is how to shake yourself free from its clutch, and leaving him here to go out with a startlingly beautiful stranger at night doesn't appear to you like such a bad start.

Decisively, you slip your phone into the pocket of your cardigan, leave him a note saying you will be back in the morning, put on your sandals, grab your keys and lock the apartment from the outside.

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	19. Stepping out into the night

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**Stepping out into the night...**

Stepping out into the night through the front door, you are greeted by a rather picturesque sight. The stranger is standing under the cherry tree in the corner of the garden, surrounded by azaleas and cherry blossoms while the wind, which has risen since you left the balcony, is blowing around his ankles, whirling small leaves and little petals around him. Obviously, he has climbed over the fence and jumped over the azalea shrubs instead of waiting outside in the shadow of the cherry tree as you have expected.

"Lovely garden," he remarks, walking towards you.

"My landlady is a passionate gardener."

"One of my brothers, too."

"I didn't know you have siblings."

"Well," he smiles, "now you do."

His little remark would have sounded incredibly rude if he had not said it in a friendly tone, you observe. Apparently, he is not a genius when it comes to small talk.

"Let's go," he says, smiling again, and offers you his arm in such a natural gesture that you automatically accept it.

Closing the gate to the garden from the outside, you can discern a small movement of the curtain behind a window on the first floor and wonder whether your landlady is still watching you from behind her curtain at the moment. What would she think if she knew that Kudo is sleeping in your apartment right now? You can still remember her shock when, two years ago, she brought you rolls for breakfast and spotted Kaito.

"Who is living on the first floor of that house?" the stranger asks. "Your landlady?"

"Yes, I think she is watching us."

"I've noticed it, too. Did I get you into trouble?"

"I don't know," you shrug. By now, your landlady's flight of fancy has probably conjured up an epic love story complete with balcony scenes and secret midnight visits between the stranger and you. "We shall see. Knowing her, she is probably going to bring me fresh rolls in the morning and try to sound me out about tonight."

"Sounds like a rather pleasant person," he laughs. "I wish I had a landlady like that who brings me breakfast in the morning."

"I'm sure she would love you so much that she would bring you breakfast every day. But unfortunately, you can't move in. The apartment on the top floor is already occupied by my landlady's daughter."

"But Reika-san is abroad, isn't she? I should send her a mail and ask her to leave her apartment to me," he jokes.

"How come you know her name?" you stare at him in surprise.

"Because she is the girlfriend of Furuhata Motoki-san, who happens to be the best friend of Mamoru-san, Odango's husband. And Odango likes to talk with me about her acquaintances during our walks in Ueno-koen... The world is small, isn't it? Actually it's a miracle that we two have never met before, although I somehow have the feeling we've already met somewhere and I only can't remember it."

"We met each other at half past six on Friday night on a bench in front ot Shinobazu no ike, don't you remember?" you ask him in a deadpan voice. "But why did you ask me whether my landlady is living on the first floor if you already knew it beforehand?"

He didn't really know it although he guessed it, he tells you. He has learned from "Odango" that "Reika-san" is the owner of an apartment in the house with the two cherry trees and the azalea shrubs Odango admires. And he deduced that it was probably not Reika-san hiding behind the curtain because she is supposed to be abroad at the moment, meaning that the person watching you must be either your landlord or landlady.

"Odango has the endearing habit of talking about almost everything that comes to her mind so that I've heard about the whole neighbourhood by now. I'm only surprised that she has never mentioned you to me."

"Because she has never met me. I saw her for the first time yesterday evening on the bus on the way to Ueno-koen. She was sleeping next to me. I didn't even know she was my neighbour until I saw you and her in front of Dr. Chiba's door."

It is surprising indeed, but during the three years you've been living in Juuban, you've never seen her although you have often heard her high voice talking to Luna in the middle of the night. The black cat has the habit of waking up the whole neighbourhood by miaowing in front of the door three or four times a week. And now that you know about her close friendship with the stranger, you wonder whether the miaowing has something to do with it. Perhaps the cat always waited for its owner in the garden and complained when she stayed away for too long.

"So you saw us in front of the door? What do you think about her?" the stranger asks, fixing you with his expectant eyes. Like most extroverted people, he likes to talk about his love interest even though, to put it in his own words, she has just dumped him.

"I didn't pay much attention to her face," you admit, "and I have a dreadfully bad memory for faces in general. But from what I've seen of her, I think she is lovely."

He beams at you, thankful for your favourable comment; and you smile to yourself, thinking that it is easy to make him happy. How exactly, you wonder, does she look in his eyes? You certainly wouldn't have expected her to be the "radiantly beautiful" woman he had told you about although she is cuter than average and could even be called — since you are in a generous mood — pretty. But beauty is known to be in the eye of the beholder, and you remember very well your unhealthy fascination with Gin's silver-blonde hair and his emerald eyes.

"I almost forgot to tell you that I've lost my handbag. I think I left it in the bus next to her when I jumped out in a hurry. Since the afternoon was so drowsy, I had fallen asleep, too, and was still sleepy when I got out of the bus."

"Really? I'm sure she hasn't noticed your bag at all, otherwise she would have mentioned it to me. But I can call her in the morning and ask her about it if you like. Did you have anything important in it? Papers, keys, love letters of snubbed admirers you would rather collect instead of throwing them away?"

"There is nothing of importance in it, actually. I keep my papers and keys in my pockets and throw away all kinds of love letters. It's the bag I don't want to lose... It's a lavender-coloured Fusae bag with a silver badge, very small and very lovely..."

There was a map in it, too, you think in remorse. The hand-drawn map with the code Kudo had given you. His invitation to hunt for treasures together at Ueno-koen.

"Was it a present from Kudo Shinichi?" the stranger asks.

"How did you get that idea?"

"You have the same wistful and infatuated look in your eyes when you talk about it," he throws you an amused smile. "As you see, I can read your mind. Don't ever dare to lie to me."

You chuckle and give his arm a spontaneous and affectionate squeeze, surprising yourself with the friendly gesture which is so unlike you that you don't know what to think of it. In the night, on the deserted street, you realize there is a familiar fragrance about him which you haven't noticed at Ueno-koen. Other scents of the evening must have mingled with it and hidden it from you.

"Have you met Mamoru-san, her husband, before?" he asks before you can remember the name of the famous plant which is already on the tip of your tongue.

"A few times. I only talked to him once, though."

"What do you think about him?"

"My first impression of him? The ideal gentleman, but you know, somehow a bit too perfect for my taste."

You have never felt the need to socialize with your neighbours, and Dr. Chiba seems to feel the same as you. Sometimes, when you return very late from your part-time job at the pharmacy or get up very early for a walk before your morning classes at university, you can see him in front of his garage or in his small garden, watering the plants. When that happens, you would always greet him with a slight nod and a smile and he would do the same, neither of you feeling the desire to say more to each other than "Good morning" or "Good night." One could get the impression that you don't know each other at all, and yet you — or rather Kaito — once had a rather interesting conversation with him two years ago.

During your first evening with Kaito at Furuhata's, you had noticed that your neighbour was sitting at a small table for three, apparently waiting for somebody who didn't come. You remember Kaito teasing you about making eyes at another man while being with him and telling you that "at least your taste is not bad," the guy was exactly what one would call "a really fine man." He looked like the perfect Mr. Darcy indeed, with his dark brooding head and his quiet, reserved demeanor. However, the thing which caught your interest was actually neither his handsome face nor his impressive height but his sombre attitude and the expression in his gaze when they met yours. Those eyes — so it seemed to you — were the eyes of someone who knew how it was like to grow up alone.

Later in the evening, Kaito somehow managed to initiate a talk with Dr. Chiba about food and to invite him to your table. You have forgotten how Kaito did it, but you remember that you admired him for being able to strike up a conversation with other people wherever and whenever he wanted to. From food the talk turned to books and then to medicine. And by the time Dr. Chiba left, Kaito had squeezed all about his private life out of him.

Dr. Chiba's goal was to lead an active, busy and fruitful life helping other people, which is why his dream since his early childhood was to become a surgeon and save other people's lives. His parents had died in a car crash when he was six, and he himself wouldn't have survived if it hadn't been for a very energetic and capable surgeon who rescued him and gave him on-the-spot treatment before driving him to the hospital and operating on him. While studying at university, he fell in love with a young girl who was still attending high school and started a relationship with her. Despite being very much in love, he decided to spend two semesters abroad when he received a scholarship for the medical sciences division in Oxford. A year didn't mean anything compared to a whole life, he had thought. After all, he had to grab the chance for their future.

Back then he didn't know, he explained, that even a harmonious relationship like theirs could fall apart if one wasn't sure whether one's love was being reciprocated. Growing up in an orphanage, he was a man of few words and couldn't express his feelings openly as she would have liked him to. In order to focus on his studies, he had kept their communication on a basic level, believing that it would make the separation easier for both of them until he returned. A letter from Furuhata informing him that his fiancée had been spending a lot of time with a classmate during his absence finally woke him up and reminded him that the most important person in his life was her. So he returned, and they were reunited just in time before she could be swayed by the romantic attentions of his rival.

"True love actually doesn't prevent you from falling in love with another person if the feelings are unclear on both sides," he said at last. "Actually, the deeper the love between two people is, the easier it can be replaced if another person can fill the void you have left in your lover's heart while you are away."

Despite the happy end of his story, both Kaito and you were strangely depressed after hearing it, and you remember thinking in annoyance that it was a pity she stayed with Chiba instead of eloping with that rival who wasn't so occupied with saving the world that he forgot about her. To be fair, it wasn't really Dr. Chiba whom you disliked, as he was actually a pleasant and perfectly nice man. It was the sentence with which he ended his story which made something inside you rebel against him.

"Well, do you still consider ditching me for him?" Kaito winked at you after he was gone, whereupon you replied that you had never considered it, neither before nor after hearing Chiba's story. Dr. Chiba was the type of impressive man whom you can admire but not love. Kaito, of course, asked you promptly if he was one of the men you could love and you answered that he could always try to find that out, and the ruined evening turned into a rather enjoyable night until he brought you home...

"I always thought Mamoru-san is frighteningly cool and composed, and easily depressed into the bargain," the stranger remarks. "The very opposite of her. But well, I guess it's the classical case of opposites attract. He is intelligent, cultivated and down-to-earth. All in all, I think Odango is lucky to have him since he is a rather decent person."

"Now you only need to find yourself a pessimistic and pragmatic woman who can appreciate your happy-go-lucky attitude and your optimism bordering on insanity, and everybody will be happy," you suggest.

"A pessimistic and pragmatic woman? A woman like you?" he jokes. "Let's fill out the papers together and get married in an instant."

"Oh no," you grimace. "In a weak moment, I might even sacrifice my freedom to help you out. But I don't think I'm made for any kind of close relationship, much less for something as steady as marriage. That woman can't be me."

"Why don't you ever want to marry?" he asks in surprise. "It's not like I can't understand you since I don't think much of marriage either. It ties up one's love with tiresome obligations and paperwork, all the things I abhor. But all the single women I've met in my life told me that they would like to marry."

Most women do but you don't, you tell him truthfully. You would rather stay single until you die. You've had enough trouble of all kinds with various men in your life and learned that the best way to avoid trouble is to stay out of it. Love alone is difficult enough to maintain even without the ties of marriage, and someone told you once that life will be simple if you keep things simple.

"Unless I find the ideal husband who worships me and gladly does all my housework for me," you tell him, "I don't think I will ever marry."

g.

* * *

g.

**After his remark that...**

After his remark that you are just as lazy as his Odango and your answer that you will take it as a compliment since it came from his mouth, you walk together in companionable silence, both freezing in the cold wind which has picked up even more. The full moon is now hidden behind a veil of thick bluish clouds, and you wonder whether it is going to rain.

"Is your cardigan warm enough?" he asks, looking down at your thin dress with an expression of concern.

"Yes. Warm enough for me not to accept your jacket, if that's what you were about to propose. Your shirt is definitely too thin for this weather. Why don't you at least button up your jacket now?"

"Good idea," he says and follows your advice.

"Your Odango and you surely had a special relationship if you could visit her at night like that," you remark when you continue walking, wondering whether he had told you the truth about their friendship. After all, you haven't really told him the truth about Kudo and you either.

"I didn't visit her at night," he says, "even though I don't think she would mind if she weren't living with him. She knows I would never try anything funny. But tonight I only brought her home after watching Kuroba's performance at Two Lights'. Mamoru-san had been called to an emergency case and couldn't go with her, leaving her a note saying she should go with me instead. So we departed again after I fetched her and brought her home after leaving you at Ueno-koen."

You have almost forgotten that he has watched Kaito's performance at Two Lights'.

"So, after bringing a woman home at night, you want to return to the same club with another? People will get the impression that I'm the latest of your many conquests. It's not flattering to me."

"No, they won't think that," he says. "There are a few rooms at Two Lights' which aren't available to the public. The only people who can see you there are my brothers and a few close friends of ours if they haven't gone home by now. And they all know me so well that they wouldn't even believe me if I told them you were a conquest of mine. You must know that, apart from my completely platonic dates with Odango, I've never had a girlfriend in my life."

You stare at him, incredulous.

"You mean you are... twenty-three or twenty-four?... and have never been kissed?"

"Twenty-four," he sighs, looking crestfallen. "Unless I count the one kiss I gave Odango on her cheek before she got married, I must admit I've never kissed anybody in a romantic context." Throwing a sidelong glance at you, he laughs. "I know that's pathetic. But what's with that look on your face?" He winks at you. "Do you pity me so much that you want to kiss me out of sympathy?"

"Don't even dream of it," you reply although you have been thinking that it is a shame because he has very kissable lips. "So you actually get VIP treatment at Two Lights'?" you ask him, realizing that he might be one of the rising stars you, indifferent to celebrities, haven't recognized. He definitely looks like a showman with his Kaito-like grace. Your theory would also explain his reluctance to tell you his name and his emphasis on "romantic context" when he talked about kisses, as he must have kissed plenty of women in front of the camera.

"Yes," he says without going into detail. "Thanks for coming with me. I've never had such good company apart from Odango since I went to high school. You are the first woman in years who I can really talk with and who doesn't immediately force her phone number on me."

You raise a brow at him, amused about his inflated ego.

"Is that the reason you were wearing sunglasses in the evening? To hide your pretty face from normal human beings? Don't worry, there are a lot of other beautiful people in the world. Not every woman you meet will fall in love with you."

"Are you so sure?" he jokes before he flashes you a lovely smile and wraps his arm around your shoulder in an impulsive hug, pulling you close to him in a gesture which vaguely resembles Kudo's embrace three years ago. His scent, mysterious and alluring, awakes your memory of Gin's with the exception that it is finer and indefinitely more pleasant.

It must be either the lack of sleep added to the lack of food or some unknown side effect of APAH because you feel giddy out of a sudden, weak and incredibly tired.

"Say, what's the name of the eau de toilette you are wearing?" you ask without trying to free yourself from his grab. You feel prone to cuddling in a cold and depressing night like tonight. And while he definitely seems like a flirt of Kaito's calibre, he doesn't seem like the type who would take advantage of your passive mood.

He looks down at you with a puzzled expression.

"I don't wear any."

"An after-shave, shampoo, wash gel, deodorant? Of course I know the scent. It's sweet osmanthus, kinmoukusei, isn't it? With a slight variation. I think it's kinmoukusei and orange blossoms."

Kinmoumusei and orange blossoms are really among the ingredients, he exclaims in surprise, admiring your amazing sense of smell. The scent comes from a perfume in his shampoo and wash gel which his foster parents invented. They claimed that it was less destructive than the commercial shampoos for long hair, and he and his siblings have been taught to mix it since their early childhood...

There is it again, that strange giddy feeling along with a premonition of something painful you can't explain. The rustle of the trees around you seems to grow louder for a moment before it retreats into the distance and dies away, leaving only a dead silence and the fragrance of orange blossoms and kinmoukusei. Ironically, the rich and lingering scent of sweet osmanthus reminds you of Kyoto and Osaka in October, bringing back memories of Gin and Pandora's Box, the same you have wanted to forget in the stranger's presence. It brings back something else, too, another memory of another time. For a moment, the long-forgotten face of the red-haired girl with her peculiarly melancholic smile and her fragile, exquisite beauty appears clearly before your eyes. The Queen of Spades, you think in confusion, wondering why the woman on Kaito's card reminds you of her. And while the world is spinning and you feel the arms of the stranger catching you, his fragrant, bittersweet scent invading your nose with a sense of alarming closeness and warmth, your mind rapidly winds back to the time eight years ago, to another night in another man's arms...

g.


	20. Even before the scene

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

g.

FS

g.

**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

g.

**Even before the scene...**

Even before the scene materializes out of the darkness, you can already distinguish the sound of the rain, a pitter-patter of tiny droplets of water against the windowpane, and smell the damp air which is heavy with the scents of the night. The impersonal tang of the detergent with which the new silk sheets have been washed, the sweet musky fragrance of fresh roses, Gin's new eau de toilette — an intriguingly different aroma compared to his usual one — and the occasional whiff of fresh tobacco...

On the screen, you can see fifteen-year-old Sherry sprawled across the double bed of a luxuriously furnished hotel room, her upper body propped against her elbows and her head cupped in her hands while her eyes are scrutinizing the roses on the bedside table. Gazing past the flowers, she throws a brief glance into the large mirror on the wall when, once again, you are pulled into the depth of the dream where the boundaries blur between the observer and the observed. Now it is you who turns her attention back to the roses, admiring their deep scarlet colour, their distorted reflections in the sapphire-tinted bouquet vase and the tiny water drops on their silky petals which are shimmering mysteriously like tear-shaped jewels on red satin.

Feeling Gin's fingers in your hair, you pull yourself up into a sitting position, turn your face towards him and placidly receive his kisses with the same mixed emotions you have had since your first date. It is rather enjoyable, the sensation of his lips on yours, warm and soft, with an underlying sincerity and affection you would never have expected from a man like him. Or this nostalgic feeling you always have when you run your fingers through his long smooth hair like you did in your childhood days before you were moved to the orphanage of the Organization. Even when you were abroad you always clung to those memories, promising yourself that — one day, when you were a grown-up — you would return to Azabu Juuban where he lived and find an excuse to run your fingers through his hair again.

During the moments when you can forget that his hands which are caressing you can also kill without hesitation, you feel like surrendering to these gentle hands.

Whenever you meet, he always smells of something pleasant, especially tonight when he has exchanged his usual eau de toilet for a more natural yet more seductive one. The intoxicating fragrance of orange blossoms combined with the languidly smooth scent of sweet osmanthus lace exotic charm with a touch of warmth, overwhelming you with a vague feeling of sadness whose cause you can't really put your finger on. Nevertheless, you like the scent of his hair and his skin and don't even mind the smell of fresh tobacco which always mingles with his. However, when he pushes you back onto the bed and deepens the kiss, you taste the tobacco and hate it.

No, you tell him as he takes off your nightdress and his shirt. During the two months with him, you have developed the ability to recognize his intentions just by looking into his eyes. Even though you intend to put it off as long as possible, you know it can't be avoided if you want to stay with him. Sometimes you wonder why you are still resisting him because there is probably no spot on your body he hasn't already kissed. But despite your own confusion about your obstinate refusals which are trying his patience, you have always successfully managed to keep him from going all the way with you.

"Why not?" he asks as the clothes land on the floor.

"I don't know," you sigh as he kisses your breast. "Maybe I just don't want it yet."

He stops and brushes your hair away from your face to gaze piercingly into your eyes. In the artificial light, his green irises appear almost blue while his blonde hair seems almost silvery-white, a chameleon-like change which always fascinates you for no clear reason.

"Still afraid of me, aren't you?" he smirks. "But don't be a hypocrite and pretend that you don't want this."

Grudgingly, you admit to yourself that he is right. However, you are not sure whether your desire to give in is only an unfortunate byproduct of your childish infatuation and raging hormones or rather the inborn curiosity of a scientist and your appreciation of his tantalizing perfume.

"I just don't like the idea of being used and then cast away like all the other women you've been with," you decide to tell him half the truth. "Why don't you keep things between us as they are now and go get someone else for a one-night stand?" From past experience, you know that pretending to be jealous and insecure of his feelings is the best way to keep his hands off you without insulting him. Bored out of his mind by sentimental and clingy women, he usually loses all interest when you allude to the issue of commitment.

For all that... while a part of you sincerely wishes that he will get tired of you sooner or later and finally leave you for good, another part of you — unfortunately the stronger one — still clings to the fading hope that your love can conquer his malicious side, turning him inside out like a double-sided jacket and dragging him with you from the darkness into the magical twilight.

"I haven't been seeing anybody apart from you these days, which is exactly the reason I can't wait any longer for this," he smirks, ripping off your lovely white silk slip which you liked so much that having it destroyed in such a way fills you with indignation at the person who committed the heinous offence. Smiling at him in mock shyness, you gently run your hands through his hair and then jerk violently at it.

As expected, he points his Beretta at you and you smile again, obediently apologizing and pulling him down to you for a kiss.

"Nice scent," you tell him between two new kisses, wrapping your arms around him in an affectionate hug. "Orange blossoms, isn't it? With a note of sweet osmanthus, I think. Why are there so many names for the same plant? Sweet osmanthus, sweet olive, fragrant olive, osmanthus fragrans..."

"Kinmoukusei, they call it here in Japan," he strokes your hair with his free hand and attentively examines it, wrapping a few short strands around his long finger. "In one or two weeks, the whole city will smell of it."

One or two weeks are too long, you realize, wondering how you are going to appease him with endless cuddling and kissing for your whole trip without driving him crazy until he really uses his Beretta on you. Tomorrow or the day after tomorrow at the latest it will be game over. Rolling to the side, you slide from the bed, hide behind the curtain and open the window. The scent of kinmoukusei outside is still barely noticeable, and yet there is a hint of it in the damp air, lingering there like a vague promise of an attainable dream.

With a shiver, you close the window, draw the curtain and reach for your nightdress just when he kicks it away and pulls you back into the bed next to him. Throwing his knee over your hips and shifting his weight to make sure that you can't escape him again, he raises onto one elbow, places your head in his hand and smirks.

"You've been evading me for two months," he gives a small chuckle, fastidiously removing a reddish hair from your hip with his left hand in which he is still holding the Beretta. "No woman has ever dared to do this to me. I really enjoyed the hunt, my little Sherry, but even I have my limit."

"Not yet," you insist, nestling your head against his shoulder. Pulling the cover over both of you, you give his breast a chaste kiss. "It's late and I'm tired. Let's postpone it until another time... tomorrow, if you like..."

Much to your relief, he doesn't throw a tantrum but puts the Beretta aside, reaches out for the lighter and the cigarette case on the bedside table to light a cigarette with his free hand while keeping you in his right arm. Now he is smoking silently while you have comfortably settled yourself half on top of him, arms and legs entangled with his, unscrupulously misusing his body as a pillow or a giant plush animal. Despite his violent character, he has enough self-respect not to force a woman into giving him what he wants, you acknowledge in satisfaction, breathing in his beautiful new scent. If it weren't mixed with this aura of cruelty you have begun to detect whenever you are in the vicinity of a cocktail member, you would love it. Without his unwanted advances, the atmosphere has become drowsy and pleasant.

"You've been acting strangely since the incident with the red-haired woman," he remarks between one pull and another, exhaling the smoke with obvious enjoyment. "Does it make a difference to you to know that she has survived?"

"Has she?"

"They both have... He with just a few scratches, she with a few more. The only one I killed that day was the guy who joined us for dinner and who tried to blackmail me with the photos he had taken of us. I don't like the fact that you show so much interest in a complete stranger, though, and a woman, at that." Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see his lips curving up in a suggestive smirk. "I didn't expect that you swing both ways."

"Didn't it ever occur to you that I might not swing either way?" You turn away from him to avoid the smoke and add in an attempt to account for your behaviour: "I don't like purposeless destruction. You told me yourself that one should save one's energy and stay inconspicuous. I didn't want her to get hurt since she didn't have anything to do with the Organization."

"If I had wanted to kill her, she would be dead by now just like the little traitor I took care of that night," he casually remarks. "As it was, she was only collateral damage. Your foolish sympathy would bother me very much if I weren't sure that it's only your well-developed sense of beauty. You wouldn't have cared at all if she had been an ugly dwarf like the one I shot."

"His looks didn't really matter because he kind of deserved it," you yawn, relieved that he is in an agreeable mood despite your stubborn refusal. The person he killed was a greedy little leech who had been leering at you for the whole evening, a natural sadist and blackmailer who had joined the Organization of his own accord, hobnobbed with the code name members and grossly overestimated his own abilities when he chose Gin out of all people as his next victim. His death didn't move you a bit, and the only thing which depressed you when you learned about it was the fact that the murderer was Gin, who uncaringly chose your first date to do away with him.

He has just put out his cigarette and is now kissing your neck again, stripping off his briefs before turning you round to face him. Trapped by the old mesh of fear and desire, you feverishly try to come up with another topic of conversation to distract him and yourself.

"Say, does it belong to your job?" you ask in a light-hearted voice. "Executing the traitors of the Organization? You told me once your job is to take care of the most important financial transactions."

"Hmm," he only mutters, gently grabs your knee to pull your hips towards his and shuts you up with a lingering kiss.

"Is it true that one can buy oneself out of the Organization as that man said?" you move away from him, inwardly gratulating yourself for remembering the conversation at the table when the "ugly dwarf" proposed buying Gin and you out of the Organization so you two could "enjoy a lifelong honeymoon together" while he took over Gin's cocktail name and his position in the Organization. "How much would one have to pay for the two of us?"

He immediately stops and gazes hard at you, his eyes startlingly bright and unreadable.

"I'm only curious," you give an indifferent shrug, surprised by your own boldness. "It's rather dangerous to let the members quit like that, isn't it? Someone could get the idea to go to the police and spill whatever they know about the Organization."

"Insignificant members can always leave whenever they want to... if they can pay a sum big enough to buy themselves out," he eyes you warily. "With all their personal data stored in our files, they can't do any harm to the Organization. Nobody in their right mind would risk their lives and those around them to go to the police without a shred of evidence. There is no such thing for people with a cocktail name like us, though."

"And how big is the sum one has to pay?" you ask, excited at the prospect that, if only you work hard enough and set aside, Akemi-nee-san can be free some day.

"Depends on how much that person knows and how long they've been with us. It doesn't start under a hundred million yen, though. For those who've been raised by us and have relatives and friends within the Organization, it starts at a billion yen."

You feel your enthusiasm shrinking. However, the glimmer of hope his statement has aroused is not that easy to extinguish. Brimming with youthful confidence, you tell yourself that, for a fifteen-year-old who is working on a project like APTX4869 and going out with Gin, saving up a billion yen might be a considerable challenge but not an impossible task.

"Too bad we two can't buy us out of the Organization," you joke as he has begun to kiss you again and — which is even more unsettling — is working himself down from your belly to rather intimate spots. "I guess we'll have to go away without their consent."

He groans. Grabbing your wrists and pinning you on the bed, he towers over you threateningly, fixing your eyes with an intense green gaze.

"I know you love to play with fire, Sherry," he hisses. "But if you don't stop now, I'm forced to conclude that you're planning to leave us. It would be such a shame because I'd have to put holes into this gorgeous body of yours here and now."

"Didn't you ever consider it?" you continue, feeling strangely secure despite his threats. "We'd be working regular hours and then have the whole night for us, switching off the phone during our dates for once so that we wouldn't be disturbed all the time. Nobody would try to spy on us. I think I'd actually like it if we were free to do whatever we wanted."

That must be sufficient to ruin the mood for him for tonight, you think. Now he is going to launch into a tirade about your stupidity and forget what he has set out to do in the first place.

He stares at you, incredulous, before he lets himself sink down next to you and begins to laugh uncontrollably.

"Freedom? You're still a naive little brat, after all," he sighs after his fit is gone. "Freedom... Don't make me laugh! One is always a prisoner outside the Organization or inside it. It's security and a good life which really matter. You've been sheltered by the Organization since your birth. A greenhouse flower like you can't imagine how it is... the realities of true freedom..."

Taken aback by the bitterness in his voice, you reach out a tentative hand to stroke his cheek, but he slaps it away and grabs your wrist again, looking furious.

"Don't ever dare to pity me," he says, his voice icy and cutting. "I don't mind your little games as long as you stay within the boundaries I set. Step on them and you'll get to see what happens. I swear you won't like it."

You stare at each other in silence until he pulls you on top of him, kissing you with unfamiliar harshness.

"It doesn't matter whether we belong to the Organization or to the FBI or to another group," he whispers, cupping your face with a dark smile. "The rules are always the same and it's the strong ones who survive in the end. The woman you liked and pitied so much... She belongs to the weak. There is no place in this world for people like her. Just accept it."

"I'm weak, too," you admit, feeling miserable.

"I'd like it if you were a bit weaker," he grins. "But since it's almost midnight and I've been waiting for so long, the few minutes don't really matter."

In answer to your inquiring gaze, he indicates the clock on the wall with a movement of his head and smirks.

"Tomorrow, you said. Don't go back on your promise."

"I don't want to play games," you explain in a desperate attempt to pull yourself out of the trap you have dug. Lost for words, you don't know what else to tell him apart from the naked truth. "I've loved you since forever. I wanted a real relationship, not this... You don't really need me for this. Why are we together if you don't even trust me?"

"Trust?" he exclaims in surprise. "You think I don't trust you after I've told you about Pandora's Box and given you the key?"

"But that was a joke? Wasn't it?" you look at him, incredulous, remembering the wild story he told you last night when you two shared a bottle of Sherry. "You were intoxicated. I never thought Pandora's Box was real."

"It's just as real as the fact that I'm one of the crows guarding it. Don't let the other members know that you know about it, and don't sing the song to anybody."

He is now stroking your hair with a mysterious smile, singing the hauntingly sad song you heard the first time yesterday night.

"Fear and selfishness are the most reliable feelings, and knowledge is the key to power. All the information we've collected about the most powerful people in the world, all the dirty little secrets that should never be revealed, a tight-mesh net through which only a few of the politicians will fall... The Organization will always control the world as long as Pandora's Box exists, and it's my duty to guard it. Do you understand now why I can never leave the Organization? Pandora's Box deserves my absolute loyalty, just like the Boss who saved my life when nobody cared whether a brat like me survived or died. Even if all of the other members were gone, the last one to stay would be me. You either have to stick by me for life or we will be enemies."

"And we don't want to become enemies so soon, do we?" you joke in an attempt to turn away from the hideous truth that you will never be able to live a normal life with him. "You should never have taught me how to use a weapon. As it is, our fight would end deadly, considering our shooting skills. Let's postpone that until I'm eighty."

Slowly and gently, he traces the outlines of your face with a grim look in his eyes.

"Don't fool around with this, Sherry," he smiles at last. "You think I can't kill you but I assure you that I can. I've never trusted a woman in my life but you. If you ever think of betraying me, it will be the end of us. Trying to hide from me would be futile because I will hunt you down and find you no matter where you are. I will kill you and all the people near you, without exception. Don't think I would hesitate even for a moment because of love. Love is fleeting and insignificant. Loyalty will always be the most important thing for me."

"Your notion of loyalty is rather warped and one-sided, isn't it?" you retort in bitterness. "You mean you can mess around with other women while I have to sit in my apartment like a lovesick fool, waiting for you to come to me whenever you feel like it."

"If that's the only thing you're worried about," he smirks, "I swear I won't ever touch another woman as long as you don't betray me."

You stare at him in surprise, astonished by the simplicity of his words. While his eyes are still sharp and mocking when he smirks at you, there is also something staggeringly serious in them, something vulnerable and hopeful as if he really felt some sort of emotional attachment.

"To be the only one for me... Wasn't that what you always wanted? Let's do it for real, then. The papers can wait until you're old enough." Trailing the tips of his long fingers down your back, he wraps his arms around you, presses you to him with an almost boyish grin and poetically adds: "In sickness and in health, till death do us part..."

g.

**AN:**

**To the readers who don't know "Encounter in Venice":**

I hate repetitions, which is why I won't refer to the things which I have already mentioned in "Encounter in Venice" because both fics belong to the same universe. I won't reuse this scene in Encounter (though it must have happened there as well, considering the fact that Shiho has the same past) just as I won't mention the scene with Ai's necklace and the charade which appeared in Encounter in this fic because I've already used it. Reading both fics actually helps you to understand the plot and the relationships between the characters better, but you don't have to read both fics to understand either fic because the fics can stand alone.


	21. The scene slowly fades out

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

g.

FS

g.

**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

g.

**The scene slowly fades out...**

The scene slowly fades out as the pitter-patter of raindrops retreats into the realm of the past, chased away by the gradual advance of other sounds... the rustle of trees, the splash of water, the rhythm of regular steps and a steady heartbeat which has a strangely soothing effect on you. Something similar to smooth leather and a metallic round object (a button?) are patting against your cheek to the rhythm of the steps while a blustering wind is ruffling your hair. The air is damp and cold, causing you to shiver despite the warm arms carrying you, shaking you slightly in the fast but steady rhythm in which you two are moving towards an unknown destination.

Yawning and shifting your position to make yourself comfortable in his arms, you wonder for a moment where Gin is carrying you when you realize that the body you are snuggling against feels and smells different. The fragrant base of his scent, while of the same lavishness, also possesses a freshness uncharacteristic of Gin's. Its luminous finish is softened by something your nose can't make out; and the combination of kinmoukusei and orange blossoms is not blatantly seductive but teasingly piquant, its languid sweetness gently blended with a warm, velvety natural scent which is curiously provocative and inviting.

With a start, you force your eyes open and find yourself staring at the immediate present in the form of a chin and a head which, for a fleeting moment and from the angle you are looking at it, reminds you slightly of Kaito's in the dim light. But in contrast to Kaito's, his ruffled hair is soft, curly and of a deep black, adorned by a light blue satin band wrapped around its bottom layer in the nape of his neck, hiding a ponytail whose existence you can only guess but not see.

"Well slept?" the stranger chuckles, putting you back on your feet with a sigh of relief while supporting your waist and your arm until you, having regained your balance, free yourself from him.

"How long have you been carrying me?" you ask in surprise, startled by the familiar sight of the weeping willows, the flat boulder and the fountain with the harp-playing Gemini. Through the sweeping branches of a weeping willow, you can see the stairs to the main entrance of Dr. Mizuno's hospital at which you spotted Kudo three years ago when you hurried out of the taxi. The Professor's condition had worsened, Ami-san had told you on the phone. And the fact that Kudo had been waiting for you in front of the door despite your bitter quarrel which — at that time — had not been patched up yet, was sufficient to fill you with a grim sense of foreboding.

"Only for a few minutes," the stranger replies, stretching his limbs with a languorous smile. "You simply fell into my arms and I couldn't wake you up no matter how I tried. So I decided to carry you to the nearest hospital since it's not too far away."

"I'm perfectly fine," you lie, wondering whether APAH has begun to reveal its side effects to both Kudo and you. "Just a dizzy spell which is over now."

"You don't look like the type that easily faints," he observes and grins. "I didn't expect that my shampoo would have such an effect on you."

"Don't get your hopes up. Though I must say I do like the fragrance. What is it called?"

"'Search for your love,'" he answers.

"You're kidding me!"

But that's how they always called it when they were small, he insists. His parents simply accepted it and never referred to the fragrance by another name.

"Maybe they didn't give it a name at all," he muses, the corners of his lips curling up in a roguish smile. "I think we should have given it three names or more because I have the feeling we all made mistakes while memorizing the formula and ended up with three different scents. It's a shame since they were so proud of it. My poor parents..."

"So you have two brothers?"

Two foster brothers who are only a few months older than him, he tells you. Most probably they are really related in some way as they have similar features. It wouldn't surprise him because the three of them had been abandoned at the same shrine on the same day.

"Had you been in an orphanage before you were adopted by your foster parents?"

"No, we hadn't. My foster parents were friends of the priest and immediately took the three of us in, depriving us of the pleasure of seeing an orphanage from the inside."

"You didn't miss anything," you remark, surprised at your compelling need to talk with him about your private life.

"So you were in one?" he asks, settling himself on the boulder next to the fountain and gestures for you to sit down next to him.

"Only for a few years," you reply, ignoring his invitation to share the boulder with him. "But it was long enough for me not to like it." Angry at yourself because now he will certainly think that you are trying to pester him with the sob story of your life, you consult your watch and announce with an air of authority: "It's late! Let's go now! We don't want to waste time, do we? Which is the quickest way to Two Lights' from here?"

For a moment, he only fixes you with a curious gaze in which — much to your relief — you can't detect any sign of pity.

"My bike isn't far away from here," he says without showing the slightest inclination to get up. "We only need to cross the intersection behind the hospital and walk a few steps to the motorcycle bay where I parked it. But are you sure you're really okay?"

"I didn't expect that we would go by bike," you stare at him in dismay, pointing out your dress to him. "How am I going to ride a bike dressed like this?" Stealing a glance at the lean figure whose legs are now comfortably stretched out on the gravel path, you wonder what kind of person would ride a bike with a long and wide jacket like the one he is wearing. But then again he seems rather eccentric with his red and black silk shirt, his satin band and his white gold earrings, somehow managing to look oddly stylish despite dressing like a harlequin.

"What's wrong with your dress?" he looks at you uncomprehendingly, eyeing your legs and the hem of your dress with unabashed curiosity. "It's not like you're wearing a mini skirt. I've seen women on bikes in skirts and dresses which are much shorter than yours."

"Why did you park so far away?" you ask him in resignation, frowning at the mental picture of yourself on a bike with the wind tearing at your thin dress and blowing it up while you are fighting with both hands to keep it down during the whole ride. "Do you even have a helmet for me? I'm not going to ride a bike with you without a helmet!"

He didn't want to wake up the whole neighbourhood when he brought "Odango" home, he replies as a matter of fact. And of course he has helmets for both of you unless somebody has stolen them, which wouldn't really surprise him as he simply left them on the seat tonight. However, he wonders whether you're feeling well enough to go to Two Lights' since you just fainted.

"It looks to me like you're too sick to go out. If you want, I can bring you home now," he adds with a tinge of regret in his voice.

"No, I'm fine!" you refuse his offer, irked by the fact that your voice sounds awkwardly desperate. Fearing that he might get the impression that you are desperate for his company, you sigh and admit: "I don't want to go home because Kudo is actually sleeping on my sofa right now."

The stranger stares at you, wide-eyed with surprise, whereupon you feel yourself blushing under his startled and inquiring gaze.

"Since he was so exhausted, he simply fell asleep on my sofa while I was printing out some documents for him," you elaborate, realizing how your defensive tone only makes matters worse. Noticing a slow smile spreading over his face, you glare at him: "Get your mind out of the gutter since all we did together was having tea—"

He bursts into laughter, a sound so exhilarating and infectious that you can't help but smile at him.

"Look who's talking!" the stranger flashes you an amused smile with a hint of curiosity. "I swear the only thing I'd been thinking was: If he is there, why is she here with me?"

Just an innocent question which was inevitable given the circumstances. And yet it disturbs you somewhat because the reason which seemed obvious to you less than an hour ago is now suddenly just as obscure and elusive as the sunset during which you met him on the bench you had expected to find Kudo.

Sitting so close to him on the narrow boulder that your arms are touching, with your legs crossed and stretched out in front of you, you watch his feet as they are playing with the dead twigs and petals on the gravel path while you are filling him in on the happenings since Kudo's arrival. Despite skipping all the details like your conversations with Kudo, Kaito's card, APAH and Pandora's Box — things he doesn't need to know about — you tell him in detail about all the things which really bother you: Kudo's outrageous lateness although he wasn't caught up in a case this time (something which never happens because Kudo is a punctual and reliable person as long as he doesn't stumble over a case and forget the date), Kudo's melancholic mood which you noticed although he had been trying to hide it from you, Ran's resolve to take over the karate dojo in Osaka and Kudo's decision to leave Tokyo with her although he obviously doesn't want to...

"That's why I don't want to be in my apartment tonight," you conclude. "It would seem to me as if we were betraying her. Going clubbing sounds much more attractive to me than sitting there and listening to him snore as well. So I decided to go out and come back in the morning when he has already woken up."

"You mean you simply locked him up alone in your apartment like that?" he raises a brow at you in a half-amused, half-incredulous expression.

"Why not? It's not like he were a helpless little kid. He can climb out of the balcony and leave whenever he wants to. There are few people in the world who are as independent and self-reliant as he is. Even if I handcuffed him to my sofa, he would find a way to free himself, I can assure you."

"So that's why you don't want to stay in your apartment... But I don't see what the problem is between you two," the stranger muses, balancing a twig on his shoe. "He doesn't want to leave. You don't want him to go. Why can't you two just be happy together in Tokyo? His girlfriend will suffer, I know. But it's better for her, too, if he leaves her now instead of seven years later, isn't it? I wouldn't like it if I found out that my girlfriend had been in love with another guy all the time and only forced herself to stay with me out of sympathy."

"No, that's not it," you sigh. "Even if he were in love with me instead of her — which is certainly not the case! — it would never work out between us. They've grown up together and she is the loveliest thing alive, warm and caring and extremely tough in her own way. I bet she has been pampering him like a baby for the past three years, and he is the type of man who likes motherly women like her. I, on the other hand, have always misplaced and lost the things I liked, starting with my toys and stuffed animals since I was small. Maybe that's why I'm so angry about losing my handbag yesterday because I did it again!..."

You break off, inwardly cursing the fact that he won't be able to understand your dilemma unless you tell him about Pandora's Box and what really happened between Kudo and you. As it is, you can only tell him a distorted version of the truth and hope that it sounds convincing enough for him to swallow it. With an impatient flick of your wrist, you wave the memory of the last sentences Kudo threw at you during your quarrel away and add truthfully: "Let's just say that he and I don't match at all."

"You won't know it until you try," the stranger shrugs. "It would be really nasty of you if they were happy together and you were trying to break them up. But it doesn't seem like that to me after hearing your story. You should at least tell him that you would like him to stay since he obviously doesn't get it. Aren't you only afraid of the mess and analyzing your relationship with him to death so that you won't have to deal with it?"

"No, it's not like that," you sigh in frustration, "although I admit that being able to analyze things to death does come in handy sometimes."

"In my situation, probably, if I wanted to forget her," he turns his face to you with a wry smile. "One can overanalyze everything to death if one really wants to. But in your case it's different. You're trying to ruin something which could work out, aren't you?"

There is an underlying sadness in his voice and his gaze which disappears almost immediately when you meet his eyes, making you wonder whether you have only imagined it. Mystified by your own muddled feelings and the troubled expression you spotted in his eyes, you shift your gaze away from him towards the blanket of dark clouds in the sky. The wind has just chased them away from the full moon whose light is now reflected in the ruffled water of the small fountain to your left, the distorted, ever-changing shape of its reflection strangely evocative of Cinderella's pumpkin carriage during its transformation.

"I don't think he would have suggested that you two watched cherry blossoms together during a sunset if he weren't in love with you," your fairy godfather continues in a voice which could easily enchant the evil stepmother and stepsisters and steal Cinderella away from the prince. "He even told you he'd rather stay in Tokyo than going with her. How many signs do you need to know that the one he wants is you? Just hurry up and make something out of it before you miss the chance and either of you really falls in love with someone else. Right now he is in your apartment, waiting for you."

"True..." you smile at the memory of Kudo's silhouette against the twilight, furiously blinking it away before the ghost of your transient love at Pandora's Box can come back to haunt you. "And this evening he is going to fetch his girlfriend from the train station and we won't see each other for months. That's the extent of his love for me. It's definitely not strong enough for a serious romantic relationship, if you ask me. And he probably slept so well in my presence because I'm not a threat to him in any way. He is infuriatingly clueless! I could even undress in front of him and he'd only worry about my health."

"I'd worry about your mental health, too, if you suddenly did that," the stranger chuckles. "Well, he probably doesn't know what he wants, sending out mixed messages. But don't you think that you're doing the same to him?"

"Sending out mixed messages?"

"If his presence really bothered you so much and you didn't want to tell him about your feelings, you could have asked him to leave your apartment, couldn't you?"

"It was difficult to kick him out," you say in a wretched attempt to defend yourself. "We had been talking about a lot of things... I simply forgot the time." Giving in to the overwhelming urge to tell the stranger about your feelings for Kudo, you add: "I did have a weakness for him once, but it seems so far away now that I don't really know if it's real anymore. Maybe I'm only affected by it because I'm in a strange mood tonight. I'll have forgotten everything by tomorrow..."

The stranger gives you a skeptical look before he silently shakes his head and turns his face away from you to look into the distance. His clear-cut profile, calm and serene, stand in marked contrast to the short loose locks of his bangs and the top layers of his hair which seem to be dancing impishly in the wind, a contrast whose parallel with his character you find most intriguing.

"It really doesn't look like that to me," he says simply, silently beholding the curtains of sweeping branches to your right which are now flapping in the gusty wind, waving their ghostly veil towards the two of you until he shrugs and begins to tap a rhythm on the gravel path, humming a catchy melody with a faraway smile.

Even his humming is a joy to listen to, you think to yourself, marveling at the beauty of his voice, his acute sense of pitch and rhythm and his exquisite sense of timing which is apparent even when he is only walking through the streets, tapping his foot or talking to you. Slowing down or accelerating the tempo according to the phrases with the confidence and boldness of a natural talent, he continues to hum the melody to himself with a smile on his lips, lost in thoughts until he suddenly turns and fixes his expressive, startlingly dark blue eyes on you.

With a feeling of utter bewilderment, you abandon yourself to the impossible dream of staying here with him forever, leaving your past behind and listening to the sound of his voice until the end of time before you belatedly recognize the melody. In a way, it is a miracle that you still remember it although you heard it only once, a song you would have forgotten if it hadn't been the first and only time in your life that you fell in love with the voice of a man whose face you never saw. You are now fifteen-year-old Sherry again, naive and fatally confident, waiting for your first date with Gin in your favourite café while listening to a song about an unrequited love, smitten by the beautiful voice you discovered on the same day you met the red-haired woman...

The memory of her has been stalking you all night, you realize. The accident which resembled the one Gin caused when the car crashed into the bike... the sunset during which Gin and the midnight blue car cornered her boyfriend and her... the Queen of Spades on Kaito's card... the scent of sweet osmanthus and the voice of the stranger which — though less husky and even more refined — resembles the lead singer's voice you heard through the speakers of the café where you saw her for the first time... Like a vengeful spirit, her presence haunts you in your dreams and even outside your dreams in the night. And now that you remember her face, you also remember clearly the expression in her eyes when she saw you through the window of the car, her horror, her disbelief and — something you have tried to banish from your mind but can never forget — her sense of betrayal.

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	22. Thankfully, your terror

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**Thankfully, your terror...**

Thankfully, your terror of tonight's string of curious coincidences passes as soon as it came although you need a moment to shake off the image of the red-haired girl lying on the pavement in a pool of blood, her frail body surrounded by a cloud of tiny green, pink and white flowers. Not far away from her, her boyfriend was lying on the pavement as well although he was still moving slightly, his hand pressing against his helmet as if he were in a daze or suffering from a concussion. Morbidly, among all the details of the scene engraved in your mind, the memory which disturbs you most is not that of her blood-drenched dress but that of her three radiant long-stemmed roses — two of them slightly torn while the red one still surprisingly intact — lying scattered around her head whose dark reddish-brown hair and beautiful features might as well have belonged to an angel from a Pre-Raphaelite painting.

The stranger has stopped humming and is now smiling at you in silence, distracting you from your unreasonable fears with the intense curiosity you can see in his eyes. The red-haired girl has survived and has probably forgotten about you by now. Your strange obsession with her is the only thing you should be disturbed about. That, and your premonition of something disastrous when you think about the peculiar sunset, the stranger's intriguing eyes and Kaito's warning...

"I already feel sorry for your future husband if you ever change your mind and marry," the stranger says in a light-hearted voice, interrupting your train of thought. With a start, you realize that you are not fifteen anymore and decisively free yourself from the spell his eyes and his voice have cast on you. Beautiful things are skin-deep and to be enjoyed but not to fall in love with. You are no longer so young and naive that you can't fight the moonlight. You know very well that you can resist...

"... It will always seem to him as if Kudo were lurking behind the corner to steal you away at the first opportunity. There are few husbands who can deal with that. If you ever consider getting yourself a slave who does all your housework for you, you'll need to lookout for a level-headed husband, someone who is just as cool and composed as Mamoru-san."

If he had said it before your talk with Kaito, you certainly wouldn't have minded. But after your conversation with Kaito, hearing the same from him is somewhat disquieting.

"Do I really behave as if I would throw myself at Kudo in an instant if he were free? It's not like I'm desperate for him because we almost never meet and don't even call each other. I've actually grown accustomed to the fact that he is never there."

"Oh, I wasn't talking about you," the stranger airily waves your worries away. "So Kudo and you seldom meet... But no sooner had your friends and his girlfriend left the two of you alone in Tokyo than he invented a treasure hunting game and even designed a map to ask you to watch cherry blossoms at sunset with him. After you two missed each other, he ran to your apartment, waited for hours, then walked to Ueno-koen in the middle of the night to find you. He talked you into letting him visit you — just to have a cup of tea together, I know... — in the middle of the night after walking you home. To top it all he even fell asleep on your sofa so that he didn't have to leave." He pauses for effect before concluding: "A 'friend' like that would drive most husbands insane, you know... And it's even more maddening because Kudo is such a dangerous rival, the stereotypical shiny fairytale prince. You will have to dump Kudo some day like Odango dumped me if you want to save your marriage. Why don't you spare everyone the heartache by going back now and kissing Sleeping Beauty awake before proposing to him?" His long black eyelashes cast dark shadows over his eyes as he looks into the distance with a smile and mischievously adds: "I'm sure he will enjoy it."

Without the things that prevent Kudo and you from going your separate ways — APAH, the Detective Boys, and the deal between Kudo and you to spend your real birthday together — the stranger's version of your alleged secret love story sounds surprisingly convincing and so excessively romantic that you forget your irritation and chuckle instead.

"Well, Kudo seems quite a danger for my future marriage, doesn't he? But we are absolutely not compatible, he can't cook, and I don't like the idea of love leading to marriage while he really believes in it. Three reasons not to go back and kiss him. I fear I'm not easy to please either. So, if I should ever hate doing housework so much that I consider getting myself a husband, I will look out for someone with an enormous ego who likes a real challenge."

"Somebody with an enormous ego who likes a real challenge and who is masochistic enough to stick by you if the situation with Kudo and you lasts for years," he raises his brow at you. "That combination is hard to find, I think. It's easier to make do with Kudo instead, no matter how clueless and boring he is."

"Masochistic? Someone like you who was content with platonically wooing a married woman like a medieval knight for seven years?"

Since when has this become a running joke, you wonder, inwardly scolding yourself for thinking that marrying him for real wouldn't be that much of a sacrifice.

"Almost eight years," he tells you with a wry, self-mocking smile. "When we met, she was already engaged to him without me knowing about it. I pursued her for one semester when Mamoru-san was at Oxford. I was dumb enough to think that she was my girlfriend just because she spent all her free time with me."

Before you can dwell on the thought that he is now depressed because your joke has brought back unpleasant memories, he flashes you another of his devastatingly charming smiles and pulls you close to him again, with the difference that this time you are not only aware of his scent but also of his warm touch you can feel through your cardigan.

"You know what? Maybe we should really elope just to see whether it would work out," he chuckles. "Even if it doesn't, the expressions on their faces when they learn about the news would be worth it!"

Before your eyes, you can see Kudo inspecting your marriage license with his odd assortments of magnifying glasses, searching for a clue which proves that it is fake until he realizes it must be real and stares at you, incredulous.

"I must admit I'm curious to see the reaction. I might really consider your suggestion if you can clean and cook."

"I can do both really well," he brags. "Cleaning better than cooking, though. But I can make omelettes and chicken congee for you."

"If you call that 'cooking', I'll pass," you sigh, freeing yourself from his grasp. "Nobody can cook worse than Kudo, though..."

With his arm gone, you are once again aware of the chill night air and the wind which come in sudden gusts, swaying the trees and messing up your dress and your hair. Laughing about your futile attempts to straighten out your dress, the stranger reaches out his hand to help you keep your hair out of your face while you only glare at him, indignant. But then you get distracted by the way how his dimples and laugh lines deepen and wonder how he would react if you kissed him just for fun.

"So you've already enjoyed Kudo's cooking?" he asks, eyes twinkling and lips curved up by a suggestive smile.

"No, I haven't. And I really don't feel like tasting it after what I've heard from his girlfriend. She told me she tried to teach him a few times... It's a wonder they both haven't died yet."

"Odango's cooking is atrocious as well," he laughs. "I wish somebody had warned me about it before I tried her apple pie." There is an affectionate expression in his eyes as he is looking dreamily past you into the water, apparently trying to conjure up a future with her and her atrocious cooking. "She forced it on us and Mamoru-san stoically ate all of it. That was the moment when I realized how much Mamoru-san has to endure every day for the sake of their marriage," he remarks lightly, shaking off the mental image with a dismissive movement of his head and his hand. "I can't imagine giving myself up like that. I really admire him for it."

"So you've already enjoyed her cooking. Are there other intimate things between you two you haven't told me about yet?"

"Nothing," he sighs, looking crestfallen. "But it's still more than the things between you and Kudo because at least I managed to leave her with a kiss on her cheek when I gave her up."

"I win," you tell him in a fit of euphoria when you feel the back of his fingers on your skin as he pushes your hair out of your eyes again while you are busy rearranging your poor excuse of a dress. "I got a confession and a proposal although there was, sadly, no kiss. But I wasn't disappointed because I knew it's no use expecting things like that so soon from a clueless mystery freak like him."

Astonished at the effortlessness with which you could touch on the memory which had been a lump in your throat for over three years, your mind winds back to Pandora's Box only to find that your fear of it has completely disappeared. How could it frighten you so much if it is just another wreckage under the sea, almost invisible in the impenetrable darkness like all the other remnants of your past? Buried under thick layers of sadness and resentment, the ghost of your love for Kudo is still there. But you realize you no longer have to fear it because you have successfully locked it up where it can sleep alone, harmless and untouchable as long as it stays undisturbed.

"He proposed? And why didn't you accept it?" the stranger asks, fixing your eyes curiously in an expression of disbelief. "Weren't you in love with him at that time? Or are you really that terrified of marriage?"

You sigh, fidgeting with the mobile phone in your pocket whose presence is not ignorable due to its unfamiliar weight. Although you usually leave it at home, you have taken it with you this time for fear that, if he wakes up before you return, Kudo might get the idea to snoop around and accidentally stumble over the file with his impetuous proposal which he took back only a few minutes after he made it. Your computer should be relatively safe from him, but you are paranoid about him guessing your mobile phone password.

"I did accept it, though I was terrified of marriage... But he bailed! In retrospect, I think I was lucky, considering how poor his cooking skills are and how little I like the word 'marriage' in general."

"And why did he bail?"

"That's a long story," you wave your hand in a dismissive gesture imitating the one he made when you talked about cooking. "Maybe someday I'll tell you if you don't pester me about it tonight." Feeling slightly guilty for the lie, you change the topic and ask: "Has she ever told you that she had feelings for you as well?"

"No, never," the stranger leans back to gaze at the indigo sky with its dark blueish clouds which are continuously changing shapes, drifting with the wind from one place to the other as if they had lost their direction. "I know I must be delusional... But there were moments when I was sure she did have feelings for me although she never said anything like that."

"You really believed she would leave her husband for you someday?"

A moment of silence passes until he turns and gives you a pained look as if your question had directed his attention to the reality he had tried to ignore.

"No, I didn't," he says at last. "But I often had the feeling I could steal her away if I wanted... that she would let me carry her off to a place where nobody can find us and make her forget about him for a while." A mischievous smile flits across his face as he contemplates the option. "For a few weeks or even a few months, it would be sheer bliss. But what would happen then?" Switching from mischievous to resigned and depressed within the split of a second, he sighs: "She is devoted to him and extremely loyal. If she abandoned him for me, she would never be the same again. Some day, she would feel guilty for it and despise herself. Ruining her life like that... I could never do it."

After three years, you can still hear Kudo's voice at your ear. I'm racked with guilt, he had said, telling you nothing which you hadn't already known beforehand.

"Kudo is extremely loyal as well," you remark. "It's one of his best character traits, I think. His girlfriend is the same... Loyalty is so rare in this world. Is it one of the things you love most about her?"

"Yes, it is," he replies lightly, springing to his feet. "That's why it can't be helped." Throwing an attentive glance at the darkening clouds which are approaching, he says with a tinge of surprise in his voice: "'Suck it up and move on,' I'd told myself, wallowing in self-pity when she got married. Of course I didn't really mean it. But tonight when she dumped me, it was different." Turning round to gaze down at you with a mystified expression, he murmurs: "I've been feeling very strange since the sunset."

"Strange?"

"Yes, as if something important had happened to me without me noticing..." His eyes fix yours with an expectant look. "Can you understand that?"

"I think so," you say flatly, no longer surprised about the fact that he feels the same as you.

"It's the first time I realize that it's totally hopeless and that I'm an idiot for not moving on but, at the same time, I don't know what to think about it." His eyes are sorrowful when he bends down and distractedly removes for you a leaf which was caught in your hair. "I had felt that something would change tonight but I had hoped things would take another turn..." Frowning, he kicks a twig away in frustration and adds: "I have the feeling I've reached my limit and can't take it anymore, and yet... I'm still clinging to my love for her. I really don't want to lose it!"

"Those feelings always fade away with time, which is actually a blessing, in my opinion," you coolly reflect. "In contrast to you, I wish they could simply disappear without a trace just when I want them to. It would make life much easier." Throwing a glance at your watch, you decide to get back to the more prosaic aspects of life: "I think we need to go to Two Lights' now if we still want to have a drink. And it's getting rather stormy here. We need to hurry if we don't want to get caught in the rain."

With a vengeance, you realize that you have left your wallet in your lost handbag and grudgingly admit it to him.

"Come on, of course it's on the house," he smiles.

You raise a brow at him, amused at his choice of words.

"Didn't you want to say it's on you?"

He gives a small chuckle.

"You can see it like that if you want."

"Thank you."

A sudden gust of cold wind blows in your direction, causing a few sweeping branches of the weeping willow next to the boulder to brush against his head and get entangled in his collar and his hair above the satin band of his ponytail. Laughing and pulling at his locks with both hands to remove the branches from his hair, the stranger winks at you with a conspiratorial smile. "It doesn't matter whether the party is still going on or not," he says cheerfully. "We still have a few hours until you have to return to Kudo. Let's make a lot of fun memories together to dilute the bad ones. I'll bring you home in the morning."

"Good idea," you remark before you realize what he could have meant with making "fun memories together" until he brings you home in the morning. Although his claim that he has never kissed anyone in a romantic context sounded truthful to your ears, he might belong to the type of man that doesn't count the kisses exchanged during a one-night stand. He himself has told you that women immediately force their phone numbers on him. Flirtatious, easy-going and fun-loving as he obviously is, he might not have turned down all of them.

"Whatever you mean with 'fun'... I'm not the right woman for physical stuff with no strings attached," you warily remark, suddenly apprehensive about his impulsive hugs and his scent which brought back your memories of Gin. "Don't even think of trying anything funny with me."

An awkward silence descends upon the two of you as he stares down at you in stupefied amazement. Seeing the flabbergasted and genuinely innocent expression on his face, it dawns on you that — despite his penchant for excessive flirting and uninhibited displays of affection — he has never been even remotely interested in having a one-night stand with you.

Embarrassed at the realization that he is now aghast at the thought that you might be contemplating the option — there is indeed an expression of mistrust in his eyes which probably mirrors your own a few seconds ago — you add in an attempt to joke while wishing that the earth would open up and swallow you at once: "Besides, I won't marry you unless you impress me with your housekeeping skills. Don't forget that and fall in love with me."

"Deal. Since I don't plan to spend the rest of my life doing housework, I wouldn't fall in love with you even if you were the only woman in the galaxy," he gives you a gleeful grin. "Rest assured that the only physical thing with no strings attached I expect from you to do with me tonight is dancing."

Still visibly amused about your misinterpretation of his words, he extends his hand to help you to your feet. And once again you surprise yourself when you — even though you usually avoid needless hand contact — happily reach out to take it.

The sudden shift in breathing and heart rate comes simultaneously with the jolt of surprise and something close to recognition when your fingers touch. Without letting go of your hand, he stands still for a moment after pulling you into a standing position.

Like in a dream, the past and the present seem to merge into each other in a world frozen in time, and a confused silence falls between the two of you in which you are struck by the memory of Kudo holding your hand three years ago when Hattori and the two of you were going for a stroll along Quai Montebello with M. Jean Black, the French agent of the FBI. Affected by the troublesome hormonal changes after taking the antidote, you had been walking on air despite knowing that Kudo was only holding hands with you because it was a part of the disguise.

The hand you are holding now feels distinctly different from Kudo's, and yet the physical sensation you have when you touch it is exactly the same.

"I'm very much into dancing," explains the stranger and lets go of your hand, regarding you with bewildered eyes whose deep blue gaze stirs vague and jumbled memories of violin and piano music and scarlet roses, Tenoh Haruka's lavender scarf, Kaioh Michiru's long flowing locks, Professor Tomoe's mad laughter and the knowing wink of Akemi-nee-san...

"Thanks," you tell him with studied nonchalance, linking arm with him like you did before. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I can't dance at all. The few steps I learnt in my dance classes... I've forgotten them long ago."

"Don't worry," he smiles, pulling you with him towards the intersection behind the gate of the park. "I'll lead. Probably you're only out of practise..."

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**The camera pans out...**

The camera pans out, leaving the pair to show the motorbike waiting at the motorcycle bay, an extravagant custom-made model which was one of the world's most expensive motorcycles seven or eight years ago. On the streets, several photos and posters of Two Lights are gracing the walls of the buildings and the advertisement billboards. Slowly and deliberately, in an ominous silence, the camera zooms in to a poster, shifting the focus from Two Lights' long flying ponytails to the large roses in their buttonholes, one of a rich golden-yellow and the other of a sparkling white evoking the image of snow...

On an advertising screen next to the traffic lights at the intersection, a reporter has just announced Taiki Kou's and Yaten Kou's comeback as "Two Lights" when the shadow of Seiya Kou appears in a flashback of the movie clip for a fleeting moment. Imitating the spotlights focusing solely on the object in his right hand, the camera zooms in and reveals a long-stemmed scarlet rose — a gleaming red orb in the dim light — which is now flying through the air while the horde of girls under the darkened stage are hurling themselves at it, screaming.

Oblivious to the dramatic happenings on the screen, Miyano Shiho only looks up when the traffic lights have changed to green and the scene has already faded out, replaced by the announcement and the trailer of the new romantic comedy starring Two Lights and Aino Minako. From another angle, the camera zooms in to the face of the nameless stranger who is now gazing down at his companion with an expression of amusement and disbelief while sneaking a few loose locks which the wind has torn from his ponytail back beneath the collar of his long jacket.

As they are ambling together through the deserted streets, each of them wonder whether the other one has noticed it. Yet neither of them identifies it as the unexpected tingling sensation which accompanies the first stirrings of love or a passion akin to it... And both of them shrug it off as the spell of a fleeting moment, passing over the critical juncture where destiny threw the dices anew and reshuffled the cards as two strangers arrived at the crossroads between the easy rapport of kindred spirits and the gravitational pull of a more troublesome attraction.

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	23. Under normal circumstances

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**Under normal circumstances...**

Under normal circumstances, you might not have recognized the bike at all. Eight years is too long a time to remember a motorbike you've only seen twice in your life; and even if you had noticed that it looked familiar (the model is one of its kind), you would have shrugged it off as something you had probably seen in one of your fashion magazines where it served as the background for two or three scantily clad girls presenting the new summer collection. But after being haunted by the red-haired girl all night, you immediately jumped when you spotted it, a blue-yellow motorcycle with two helmets — one white and one blue — on its seat, its back illuminated by a street lamp and its front looming in the shadow of a tree like a ghostly apparition.

"Are you alright? Feeling dizzy again?" your companion asks, supporting your arm. Judging from the look on his face, he obviously fears that you're going to have another fainting spell.

"It's nothing... I only thought I've already seen your bike somewhere."

Maybe you really have, he muses, because it was a very famous model seven or eight years ago, featured at many motorcycle shows. People still offer him horrendously high prices for it, and he wonders why nobody has stolen it yet.

"I didn't expect that you're interested in motorbikes, though."

"I could say the same about you. You don't look like a biker to me."

He wouldn't label himself as "a biker" either, he agrees with a smile, handing you the white helmet. For him, the bike is only a practical means of transportation in the rush hour although he usually prefers the car, especially when he can be a passenger rather than driving himself.

"I prefer driving myself," you remark. "I like to be in control of the vehicle."

"Can you ride a bike, too?" he asks.

"Of course." One of the benefits of growing up in the Organization was the seriousness with which those things were taught. Being able to use all modes of transportation was for an Organization member just as important as knowing the phone numbers of the closest associates by heart.

"Then you can give me a ride if you like," he hands you his keys with a mischievous smile.

"I'd rather not," you decline. "I don't know the way to Two Lights."

"I can give you directions."

"But it's your bike, and I don't have a license," you protest, refusing to drive without a license even though he doesn't seem to mind. Moreover, you are sure you won't be able to focus on the way because you will be fighting with your dress during the whole ride. What type of man would let the woman accompanying him give him a ride on his own bike, anyway, you wonder, bewildered by his unpredictable character. One moment he is carrying you through the streets, the next he is as girly as Sonoko can be, asking you to give him a ride on his own motorcycle.

"What a shame," he says, climbing on the bike in mock disappointment. From behind and with the blue helmet in his hand, he reminds you almost of the blue-clad biker from eight years ago.

"Say, did you ever have a red-haired girlfriend?" you ask him in mistrust.

He shoots you a quizzical look through the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting yours in genuine surprise, and grins when his gaze lands on your hair.

"Not yet," he winks. "I already told you I've never had a girlfriend. Why do you ask?"

"Just forget it," you sigh, putting on your helmet because he has just put on his. Making yourself comfortable on the seat, you reassure yourself that the probability of him being connected to the red-haired girl in any way is so small that it might as well not exist. What you feel can't even be called a premonition but rather paranoia or superstition, fueled by an especially long sunset and a particularly intriguing perfume...

"I thought I could read your mind. But it seems I can't make you out at all," he laughs, starting the engine.

"I'm glad you've finally come to your senses."

...And yet... there is this strange sense of déjà vu when you hear the familiar smooth sound of the engine, a deep tremolo which slowly rises and accelerates, growing gradually louder as it builds to a climax and then dies down like a mournful howl, the prélude to disaster for another couple eight years ago.

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**"What do you usually get up to..."**

"What do you usually get up to at weekends?" you ask him in an attempt to make small talk while the colourful lights and blinking signs typical for Tokyo by night are flashing past you. After leaving the quiet southern part of Azabu Juuban for the more lively north, you have been overtaken by many other bikes and cars full of people heading in the same direction, you observe, wondering whether they are all going to Two Lights' even though the party has already started hours ago.

"Concerts, art exhibitions, museums... I'm a real culture vulture just like both of my brothers although, sometimes, I prefer going out to town alone or staying at home to work. And you?"

"Cinema, shopping, reading in bed. Nothing interesting, really..."

"Not shutting yourself up in your basement to mix perfumes?" he jokes. "I'd have expected that from you with your awesome sense of smell."

"I don't only have an awesome sense of smell. I have an awesome sixth sense as well," you tell him.

"What exactly do you mean with 'sixth sense'?"

"Intuition? I often know when something is wrong, when I'm in danger or when someone I know appears in my vicinity without looking. Other people can do that, too, but I'm especially good at it."

"And? Are you in danger now?" he asks in a mysterious voice which would have sounded creepy if it weren't for his low chuckle.

"Not with you. You're absolutely harmless."

He laughs.

"Somehow I'm really sorry to hear that," he sighs, flirting again although this time you're not sure whether he does it out of habit or out of gallantry towards you. "I can sense people as well," he continues in a more serious voice. "Back then, when I was walking past your balcony, I could feel with certainty that you were there. Strange, isn't it?"

"Hmm, strange indeed."

Vaguely wondering whether you still have the aura of the Organization, you continue to look past his shoulder at the illuminated streets until the two shooting stars announcing Two Lights' emerge from behind the tall ginkgo trees of Ichinohashi Park. Contrary to your expectations, it's a very picturesque two-storey building with a large patio and a roof garden which are still bursting with people at half-past four a.m. Driving past the just as crowded parking lot, the stranger turns to the left and immediately applies the brakes when he spots the group of people in front of the back entrance.

"There he is," screams a high voice and you two are suddenly engulfed in a sea of flashing lights, cameras, microphones and fashionably dressed people while the stranger turns the bike around and — much to the shock of the car drivers behind you — escapes with you through a small opening between two cars in the opposite direction.

"Why did you pull such a stunt?" you shout to him in dismay as you two are racing down the street. "Do you want to kill both of us?" His speed has made it increasingly harder for you to keep your balance with your hands on your knees, and you angrily grab at the back of his jacket in front of you, pulling a bit more forcefully at it than you intended to.

"Please let go of my hair," he groans in pain. "Can't you just hold my waist instead of jerking at my ponytail?" Sighing in relief when you let go of his back and grab at the pockets of his jacket instead, he chuckles and mocks: "You're such a prude, constantly straightening your dress and trying not to touch me even though you're about to fall from the bike. And that despite having at least two ex-boyfriends. How come?"

"How come you suddenly pulled such an idiotic stunt?" you ask, still breathless with anger because you've already seen yourself lying on the street in a pool of blood like the red-haired girl eight years ago. At your age, you should have known better than to trust a man who asks a complete stranger for a rendezvous at night. Despite feeling like a complete mess tonight, you don't really want to die.

"Paparazzi and reporters are besieging Two Lights'," he explains, calmly evading a car which has suddenly overtaken you from the wrong side. "Unless you want to appear in the news as my latest girlfriend and be slandered by the gutter press by tomorrow night, we have to flee."

"Weren't they there when 'Odango' and you watched Kaito's performance? How did you get past them the last time?" you ask. His melodious voice has a soothing quality in contrast to his dangerously impulsive character, and you try to put yourself at ease with the thought that at least he seems to be a capable driver with quick reactions.

"Luckily, they weren't there the last time. Someone must have seen Taiki and Yaten entering the club and informed them. It's the first time Two Lights officially visited their own club, you know..."

"But they weren't there for Two Lights," you insist. "It looked to me like they're waiting there for you."

"Maybe," he says thoughtfully. "Someone must have tipped them off about my bike. Otherwise they wouldn't have recognized me."

"So why are they so interested in you? Are you a famous actor or singer I don't know?" you ask, thinking it might not be a coincidence that his voice is the same as the singer's voice you heard in the café eight years ago.

"I was once a bit of everything," he says evasively. "Maybe the reporters still like to have my face in their gossip columns because they can invent so many morbid stories about me. I only sing for my own pleasure now although I consider returning to the stage with Yaten and Taiki. And what do you do?"

"I don't sing," you deadpan, wondering whether it is safe to assume that Two Lights' names are Yaten and Taiki. "But I like listening to music. You can sing something for me if you want."

"Not on the streets," he declines, sounding suddenly so distant that you feel obnoxious for asking him.

"It's a shame we can't go to Two Lights' now," you remark, changing the topic. "So what are we going to do?"

"Anything you want to," he says, sounding accessible and cheerful again, "just say the word."

"I don't know. I'd have liked to know what's so special about Two Lights, though."

"I think the hype is more about Yaten and Taiki than about the club. What about driving through Roppongi for a while and then trying to go to Two Lights' again?" he suggests. "I have a key to the back entrance. Even if they close before we arrive, we can still empty their bar without anybody disturbing us."

"No alcohol," you warn him. "Only non-alcoholic drinks. I want you to be sober when you bring me home in the morning."

"Don't worry," he chuckles. "I never drink anything alcoholic when I drive, and I never drink more than a tiny glass of Sherry even when someone else gives me a ride. You can drink as much as you like, though."

"Sherry?" you exclaim, astonished at the coincidence while, simultaneously, the thought that Two Lights seem to be very close friends of his is nagging at you.

"My favourite wine. Want to try?"

"No thanks. I've stopped drinking long ago... But two cars are following us," you tighten your grab at his jacket. "The paparazzi really seem to love you. Step on it since we don't want to get caught."

In the end, he managed to get rid of your followers without killing either of you so that you two are now drifting idly through the night in silence, both in a fairly amiable mood despite the appalling weather. Although it is spring, the night feels more like a gusty autumnal night with its strong, chilly wind and its freezing rain suddenly coming down in sheets. Through the wet visor of your helmet, the streets of Roppongi are only a blur of neon lights flashing up and running down in streams of garishly coloured water.

However, it is impossible to stay amiable when you are soaked to the skin, and a feeling of slight irritation once again rises to the surface when a few half-witted young bikers overtake you two with loud whistles and vulgar remarks directed at your now translucent dress.

"You were right when you predicted the rain," the stranger says. "I'm sorry I didn't take any raincoats with me. What about staying in a bar or a game centre until the rain stops?"

"No, I'd rather not," you brush his offer aside. "I'm already soaked, anyway. Let's go back."

"Okay," he readily agrees, and you are strangely irritated by his obvious indifference until you see the sign with the shooting stars again and realize that he must have misunderstood you and is now heading towards Two Lights' instead of bringing you home. For a moment, you seriously consider coming with him despite your wet dress, but then another icy gust of wind makes you shiver and you sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that the weather objects to your overnight date.

"Why do I have the feeling that we're doubled jinxed when we're together?" you shout to him, peering past his shoulders through the curtains of pouring rain into the rearview mirror in a futile attempt to catch a glimpse of his face.

"It's only you who is jinxed," he laughs. "I love the rain. It reminds me that I have a cozy apartment to return to. Just look on the bright side."

"Is there anything you don't love?" you ask in disbelief. "I'm so drenched I can't go to Two Lights' in these clothes. We must go back now. Just bring me home. You can stay at my place until the rain stops."

"Isn't your detective sleeping on your sofa at the moment? We can't go to your apartment without waking him up. Apart from that, I'm really not in the mood to meet him."

"What do you suggest then? I'm not going to Two Lights' like this," you pull mournfully at your thin dress, which has become perfectly transparent, clinging to your knees. If it weren't for the cardigan, you might as well have gone out naked.

"Let's go to my place. It's directly on the way between your place and Two Lights'. You can have a shower to warm yourself up while I wash and dry your clothes for you."

"Good idea," you hear your own voice saying, going along with his outrageous suggestion without thinking about it twice.

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**There are certain unspoken rules...**

There are certain unspoken rules a woman should always stick to. Never talk about your love life with an attractive stranger, don't go out at night with a man whose scent you like, and don't stay overnight at his place unless you want the inevitable to happen. But once again, you find yourself ignoring whatever rules you thought you have learnt in his presence. The stranger has a way of doing whatever he wants without thinking about it. And tonight you feel like tagging along.

Hence you now follow him through the garage to the lift and enter his apartment on the twenty-third floor with the air of somebody who is living there, distractedly slipping out of your dripping wet cardigan without remembering that your thin dress underneath is clinging to your skin before you notice his gaze.

"I'll get you a bathrobe and a towel," he quickly says and disappears behind a door while you are looking about yourself, taking in your surroundings with the curiosity of a detective on a crime scene. The wide corridor you are standing in is tastefully furnished with a large antique mirror, four antique coat hooks and a long bench with an elegant parasol in the umbrella stand next to it, a sight evocative of a woman's presence. Apparently, the room the stranger has disappeared into is his bedroom, as you can discern through the half-closed door a small bed and an electric guitar before the door fully opens again and his dark head reappears.

"Here," the stranger smiles, handing you a bathrobe and a towel before he proceeds to take off his wet jacket and put it on a hanger. "You can have a shower now if you like. I'll make us coffee in the meantime. Or do you prefer tea?"

"Either is fine for me."

Following him to the large green bathroom where he puts the hanger with his jacket on a hook and drops your cardigan into the washing machine, you stop in front of the door and thoughtfully behold his curly ponytail which is much longer than you expected, swaying like a real tail with every of his movements and brushing against the floor when he knees down to plug in the washing machine and to turn on the heater. Somehow its silky smoothness and its layered style trigger a memory, reminding you of Two Lights' trademark flying ponytails, and all of his odd and cryptic remarks suddenly make sense when you realize that Two Lights must be his foster brothers and that you are in the apartment of Sonoko's favourite idol.

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**According to Sonoko...**

According to Sonoko, he was all the rage eight years ago, famous for his extraordinary voice and his air of reckless abandon. At sixteen, he had also begun to make himself a name as an actor and dancer and become one of the three most popular teen idols of his time when he suddenly disappeared from the public and never accepted a role again. His disappearance seemed to have made him even more interesting in the public eye, just like his penchant for pretty women, cultural activities and extreme sports. Rumour has it that he had quit the idol business to spend his life as the modern-day Casanova, travelling incognito from city to city to visit the museums and seducing the local women. Last year, he was seen more than once in Venice or, to be more precise, waiting for Aino Minako in front of her dressing room at La Fenice during the new production of "The Beauty and the Beast" in which she was cast in the leading role. There are also talks about him moving to Venice to be near Aino, who is said to be one of his more serious romantic entanglements. Just idle gossip and unsubstantiated rumours, Sonoko — the same person who told you all the gossip — has said, because she doubts he would ever get that attached to a woman. Still, those unsubstantiated rumours were enough for her to decide that she would study art history in Kaioh Michiru's private academy in Venice instead of going to New York like her mother wanted.

While you don't really want to give any credence to the rumours, you can't help wondering whether there is a grain of truth in them. Being unhappily in love with a married woman who is out of his reach doesn't necessarily mean that he is really leading a life of abstinence. Twenty-four and never kissed anyone in a romantic context, he has claimed, looking so sincere that you were completely taken in. The little cheat has most probably taken you for a ride! He has already demonstrated his cavalier attitude to the truth when he hid his identity from you.

"Is there something on my face?" he asks, rising to his feet with an infuriatingly charming smile. You don't want to know how many hearts he has already broken in his life. But he can rest assured that yours will never be a piece in his collection.

"I just realized I have information for which some people would kill," you smirk and, in answer to his inquiring gaze, tug at a strand of his ponytail. "I should have guessed your name when you said you had the key to the club. As a revenge for lying to me, I should make your address public on the internet for all your obsessive fans who are still hunting you."

He laughs without showing the slightest hint of surprise at the fact that you know about him.

"But you won't do it, will you? And why do you think I lied? I can't remember lying to you at all."

"You told me you've never been kissed, and I even fell for it. Or was none of the kisses between you and all your affairs romantic enough to be counted?"

Romantic or not, he has never kissed anybody except Odango, the women in his family, and the few actresses he had to kiss in front of the camera for some odd commercials, and that not even on their lips, he insists. He doesn't know who spreads all the rumours about him and all the women he is supposed to have been with.

"So one-night stands without kissing? Just spill it. How many women have you been with?" you ask, not believing him a bit. "Is the figure still in the double-digit, or have you already lost count of it?"

"None, I swear," he sighs, exasperated. "I only need to say 'Hi' to a woman and people will immediately claim that we're having an affair. That's why I'm usually in disguise when I meet up with Odango. They would make her life a living hell if they knew."

People tend to make a lot of assumptions about him, he tells you, and he has decided to take it as a kind of compliment. After all, most rising stars are craving the media attention he gets, and even during his teen idol days, his scandalous reputation never harmed his career in any way.

Not very credible, you tell him, although in view of his air of innocence, you are willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Leaning against the bathtub with his arms crossed in front of his chest, he contemplates you thoughtfully, almost coolly, as if he, too, has begun to see you with different eyes.

"The knowledge of a name does make a huge difference, doesn't it?" he asks at last. "You seem to have made a lot of assumptions about me, too, although you've never met me before."

With a start, you remember the expression on his face when he told you that you were the first woman in years he could really talk with and who didn't immediately force her phone number on him. No matter what he might have lied about, your odd friendship — or whatever this is — feels real, and most probably he would never have told you about Odango and taken you to his private apartment while a hotel would have served the purpose if he only wanted to have his way with you as you had paranoically feared.

"It's not about you or your name but all the things that are associated with it," you admit. "But since I'm in a generous mood, I'll ignore them for now, stranger-san."

A glint of humour steals into his eyes before his distant gaze turns into the familiar smile you no longer want to miss. Winking at you as he breezes out of the bathroom, the stranger (he will always be the stranger for you now as you have decided to ignore his name) lightly tugs at a strand of your hair as if he were paying you back for what you did to his.

"You really need to get out of your wet clothes now," he remarks. "Just leave them on the floor or put them into the washing machine. I'll wash them later for you."

"And you?" you ask, indicating his wet jeans.

"Later," he smiles and cheekily adds: "You don't want to suggest that we take a shower together, do you?"

Dream on, you are about to say when you realize that this is the ideal chance to test whether he is really as pure as he claims.

"Why not?" you fix his eyes with a challenging smile. "We can save a lot of time that way."

He stares at you in speechless surprise, his face changing colour as he tries to visualize what you just suggested, and you think to yourself in amusement that he is not even half as cool as he pretends to be when a flicker of recognition in his eyes show you that you have revealed your true intentions too early.

Much to your dismay, he gives you an impish grin, steps into the bathroom and casually begins to unbutton his shirt. "Agreed. But don't try anything funny with me," he playfully growls, imitating your tone of voice perfectly. "I'm saving myself for an idiot who adores me so much that she will do all my paperwork for me."

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**Eventually, he ends up...**

Eventually, he ends up occupying the shower while you — for lack of a better way to save face — claim that you prefer a bath. Running a bath while trying to avert your eyes from the transparent shower enclosure directly next to the bathtub, you curse yourself for the stupid mistake of smiling a second too early so that he could guess that you never meant to shower with him for real. After stripping shamelessly in front of you and — wearing only a pair of black boxers — strolling into the shower with the air of a top model on the runway, the impertinent little wretch has flashed you a victorious smile over his shoulder and invited you to join him, an offer you should have accepted since you were the one who suggested it. And the fact that you didn't dare to — added to his knowing and self-satisfied smirk because he knew that he had won — somehow irked you so much that you decided not to walk out of the bathroom but to stay for the bath. Stubbornly refusing to retreat, you tell yourself that there is no logical reason to be disturbed about sharing a bathroom with someone who obviously has the mental age of a kindergarten kid. And you stayed even after he successfully shocked you the second time by removing his boxers and throwing them with unerring accuracy into the open washing machine before shutting the door to the shower with a cheeky little grin.

Emptying your pockets on the sink table, you notice that Kaito's card is damp but still in a good condition, and dry it with your towel before slipping it into the pocket of the bathrobe along with your mobile phone and your keys. For a moment, you wonder whether you should take a photo of him to pay him back for his prank before you resign, deciding that you don't want your peculiar date to escalate even more than it already has.

"Do you have some bath salt or bubble bath?" you ask with a knock at the shower door (which is, luckily, in contrast to the rest of the transparent enclosure, only translucent!), hoping that he has something which makes enough bubbles for you to hide in it.

He turns off the water, sticks his fragrant wet head out of the shower and efficiently wrings the water out of his ponytail. After the shower, his ever-changing eyes are of a shockingly bright blue and, making a dramatic contrast with his deep black eyelashes, catch you off-guard again when they flash you a mischievous smile.

"Just my shampoo and wash gel," he shrugs and then chuckles: "Have you changed your mind and want to come in?"

Before you can say anything in reply, he has already turned off the water of your bath, grabbed your wrist and boldly pulled you into the shower, which is, much to your relief, large enough for both of you so that your bodies don't touch. Spraying the warm water all over you, he quickly massages his shampoo into your hair (while you, eyes clamped shut, are cursing at him under your breath) before he slips out of the shower, shaking with laughter at his own silly prank.

"I wonder what your fans would do if they knew what you're really like," you remark while rinsing your hair, stupefied by the discrepancy between his public image and his behaviour towards you. "I shall give them a detailed account of this when I make your address public."

"I can tell you what will happen afterwards: They're going to murder you before they start to camp here, and my agent will take care of it as always by evacuating us. But I wonder what Kudo would say if he knew that you've just taken a shower with me," he laughs, beaming at you while drying himself up. "If you tell anyone about my address, I swear I'll break his heart by giving him a call."

"I doubt that he would care," you shrug, thinking that Kudo must be accustomed to taking a bath with Ran.

"Let's tell him then," he dares you. "I bet he won't be able to solve any cases for weeks." In a fit of sudden decency or shyness, he wraps his towel around his hips before turning on the water and let it run into the washing machine, adding a small cup of laundry detergent.

"Don't worry, I won't peep," he says, extending his hand towards you while demonstratively averting his eyes. "I'll only run the washing machine before I leave you alone. Just give me your clothes."

Slipping out of your wet clothes, you roll them into a small bundle and — imitating what he did with his boxers — aim at the open washing machine, accidentally knocking your elbow against the open shower door in the process. Alarmed by the sound, he swiftly turns round while rising to his feet in one single movement, catches your arm before you can throw the bundle, and stares when he realizes that you are not wearing anything at all and that his towel, too, has just fallen on the floor due to the sudden movement.

An awkward moment passes in which the two of you are only standing there wide-eyed at the compromising position and in which you are torn about what to do: to kick him into unconsciousness, rob him of some clothes and leave his apartment immediately or to steal his first kiss as a revenge for his pranks on you. Luckily, he takes the decision out of your hand by letting go of you to retrieve his towel so that, in the end, you only throw the bundle of clothes on the floor and shut the door to the shower with your heart pounding in your chest.

"I'm sorry," he lightly knocks at the shower door. "When I heard the sound, I thought you were dizzy again."

"It doesn't matter, just forget it."

Smiling at the ridiculous situation, you proceed to shower with regained composure. A man who doesn't even try to lock lips with you under these conditions is someone you can trust to keep his hands off you for the rest of his life. Despite his reputation and his shameless flirting, he is depressingly innocent, and you grudgingly admit to yourself that he would probably flee from you if you just walked out and kissed him as you wanted to do since he pulled you close to him the first time on the street two hours — which somehow seem to you like two years — ago.

It must have been the last thought which suddenly turned on the light in a dim corner of your mind, reminding you of something Kudo jokingly said to you during the course of the evening when he was sitting on your sofa, telling you about the case that prevented him from coming to your birthday two years ago, the one he has never managed to wrap up due to the obstinate refusal of the extroverted but stubborn culprit who has Kaito's charms.

What are the odds that there are three other celebrity brothers in the vicinity, you think, feeling your head spin as your suspicion grows. The owners of Two Lights were only trying to support his career without telling him, Kaito has said. _Kuroba is an aquaintance of mine, It's directly on the way between your place and Two Lights, I once met a detective... a very famous one... But the circumstances were not so favourable then_, you hear the stranger's voice in your head as you replay all the things he has told you since you met each other for the first time. Nevertheless, you still have the overwhelming feeling that there is a very important detail you have either blocked out or missed, and you aren't sure whether you really want to know what it is.

Turning off the water, you give up the detective work, deciding that you neither want to jump to conclusions nor to probe into other people's private affairs which don't concern you. Everybody has a secret one had better not touch, so why shouldn't the stranger have one, too? Oddly enough, you like him even more now because he, too, has lost a sister he loved.

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**AN:** Do you all know these steamy shower scenes which escalate into long makeout sessions? I've always wanted to use the trope and write a shower scene in which nothing happens at all (well, except for the unravelling of a mystery). XD (Though I bet Kudo will still resent me for this.)

Please just tell me what you are thinking because I'm curious and because it helps me to stay motivated (no need for constructive reviews, support or flattery XD). SN and I once talked about how great it would be if we knew what the readers are thinking while reading our stories. It would be great if readers could add notes to a story while reading it, like: "Oh nooooo, don't ditch Kudo" or "Hey, where did he get that towel?" etc... XD FFNET definitely needs such a feature!

**AN2:**

_A man who doesn't even try to lock lips with you under these conditions is someone you can trust to keep his hands off you for the rest of his life._

SN: sob you mean there are guys who don't just turn away?

FS: Decent guys always turn away, or at least I think so. XD But since she grew up in the Organization and was with Gin, I think it's normal for her to assume that guys usually wouldn't just turn away. Lol.


	24. The first faint glimmer of dawn

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**The first faint glimmer of dawn...**

The first faint glimmer of dawn is seeping through the translucent patterned curtains, casting intricate purple shadows on the white covers of the bed and the left side of the stranger's face while he is blow-drying his gorgeous long hair (will he give you the formula for his special shampoo if you ask him?) with a black monstrosity of a hairdryer, quietly humming to himself a melody you can't identify because the sound of the hairdryer partly drowns it. Much to your relief, he has exchanged his skimpy towel for another pair of jeans and a white cardigan, and you vaguely wonder whether he is trying to mock you with his choice of clothes or whether he has — consciously or subconsciously? — decided to match his outfit with yours.

"Nice cardigan," you innocently remark when you meet his thoughtful eyes, whereupon he turns off the hairdryer and gives you a faraway smile.

"Birthday present?" you continue intelligently, gesturing towards the red roses on the bedside table. It is difficult to treat a man who has seen you naked as a man who has only seen you clothed, and embarrassing memories usually have the inconvenient quality of being more permanent than they should.

"Ah, no," he distractedly replies, holding out the hairdryer to you. "I often get flowers from my fans. Taiki must have brought them tonight since he has the spare key to my apartment. I bet the dining room is already stuffed with flowers so that he had to put them into my bedroom."

"Taiki is your flower-loving brother?"

"Exactly that one. Yaten would only have trashed them. Sorry for earlier, by the way."

"I already told you to forget it," you sigh, thrown by his troubled gaze and his contrite apology because you can't comprehend why a man who can strip in front of a woman he just met without batting an eyelid should be fretting about such a silly little episode during which nothing actually happened. There is no doubt that he is one of the most carefree and light-hearted specimen you have ever met, and it would be more in character for him to shrug it off as an embarrassing incident which, in retrospect, was at worst awkward and at best amusing.

Noticing that you don't show the slightest inclination to take the hideous hairdryer out of his hand, he turns it on again and casually proceeds to dry your hair while you, deciding that you might as well accept his gesture as a remedy for the juvenile prank he played on you, settle down on the bed next to him. The memory of Kudo and you sitting on the double bed in your shared hotel room in Paris (another part of the disguise you should never have accepted), comparing the conduct of French couples to the conduct of their Japanese counterpart while you were blow-drying your hair, emerges from the back of your mind and numbs you for a moment with its vividness. However, the moment immediately passes as the stranger shifts his position and you catch a faint whiff of his scent, reminding you that your hair smells distinctly differently from his although you've used the same shampoo.

Are you the same woman who has snapped at Kudo — a friend you have known for years — for snooping around in her bedroom a few hours ago, you wonder as the stranger continues to dry your hair in silence. Assessing the situation, you realize that right now you are making yourself comfortable on the bed of a man you just met, letting him blow-dry your hair for you at the crack of dawn while you are only clad in an oversized bathrobe, a behaviour you would have considered as unacceptable a few hours ago. However, social norms seem to have lost their importance for you whereas marking the passing of time has taken on a new profound significance; the distinction between "tonight" and "yesterday night" has become a blur as reality is interspersed with surprisingly vivid dreams; and hours seem to stretch into years while the whole situation seems so natural and at the same time so unreal to you that you almost expect to wake up soon.

"You surely like bizarre things," you remark in an attempt to bring yourself back to reality with the sound of your own voice. "I've never seen a hairdryer this extravagant."

"I didn't buy it," he laconically says before adding as an afterthought: "I don't like it either, but it was a present."

From whom, you are about to ask — wondering whether it was from his late sister — when you are distracted by his warm fingers running slowly through your hair like a lover's caress. The situation has begun to get out of hand, and you vaguely wonder whether Kudo would be amused or rather disturbed by your immediate and intense interest in a person you might never have met if both of you had not been waiting for someone else on the same bench during a particularly beautiful sunset. After going through the agony with Kudo once, it is easy for you to detect all the alarming signs of a foolish attraction that could escalate within a night and mess up your peaceful life by the end of the week at the latest, ruining an emotional bond which could otherwise have lasted for a lifetime.

"What would you have done if I had wanted to shower with you for real?" you ask, scrutinizing his reflection in the wardrobe door mirror in an attempt to analyze your muddled feelings Kudo has jokingly labelled as "unreasonable infatuation."

"Nothing," the stranger admits. "I knew you didn't want to, though."

"So you ended up doing something you didn't want to just to spite me? You surely have a tendency to defeat yourself."

He sighs and turns off the hairdryer without removing his left hand from your hair.

"Why do you think I didn't want to?" he teasingly asks. "Don't you have an instinct for self-preservation? I'm not your best girlfriend just because you treat me like one." The back of his fingers slightly — and deliberately? — brush against your neck as he removes his hand from your hair. "I could have misused the situation."

"Could have? You did misuse it, in a way," you remind him, "And you should question your instinct for self-preservation instead of mine. You've forgotten that I could either have taken a few photos of you with my phone or file a lawsuit accusing you of exhibitionism and sexual harassment."

"Nobody would have believed you," he chuckles, "and you would never have taken a photo of me because you didn't even dare to look at me. So you never got to see Kuroba naked during your two weeks with him?" In response to your disapproving scowl at his indiscreet question, he only flashes you a disarming smile.

"No," you sigh in mock disappointment, "although at least he did kiss me unlike a certain clueless detective. Kaito isn't the type that casually takes off his clothes in front of a woman he hasn't known for long." Remembering the scandalous reputation of the person next to you, you darkly remark: "You, on the other hand, seem accustomed to doing it."

"Not at all," he asserts and continues to dry your hair, twirling each strand around his fingers with the same smile he wore on his face when he watched the squirrel yesterday evening, making you wonder whether he is comparing you to the squirrel (because your hair and its furs are both reddish brown?) or whether he regards your hair as one of the "beautiful things" he enjoys looking at. "I only did it in front of you. Do you feel honoured now?"

"Incredibly! Although I'll have to burst your bubble if you think you're the first naked man I've ever seen. You just happened to take me by surprise, that's all."

"So how many guys have taken their clothes off for you before me?" he laughs. "I promise I won't be shocked even if the number is enormous."

"Just one," you coyly reply, leaving out all the countless naked patients, human guinea pigs, exhibitionists and male models for the life drawing classes at Infinity (you had an all-round education at Professor Tomoe's exclusive academy before taking over the development of APTX 4869) your everything-but-innocent eyes have seen. Telling him the truth is impossible without revealing to him that you once belonged to the Organization, a fact you don't want him to find out so soon. Also, the details of your brief romance with Kaito — luckily, Kaito and you never got past the kissing and cuddling-on-the-sofa stage — are the last things you want to mention to him because they are acquaintances. The almost-kiss at Pandora's Box with Kudo — providentially prevented by Hattori's premature reappearance — was a mistake Kudo and you have agreed to erase from your minds, and the sight of Kudo changing his clothes after Hattori and he fished you out of the sea doesn't count either since he obviously thought you were asleep. After all, your ability to feign sleep has greatly improved over the years...

Trying to ease your guilty conscience with the thought that you can't tell your new friend the full truth without touching on the Organization and Pandora's Box, you conclude that there is no sensible reason for being clumsily honest. After all, what would a woman be without her white lies and her little secrets?

"Your first boyfriend?" the stranger makes a reasonable guess.

"Unfortunately yes — although I wish he hadn't."

"Why?" he gives you an incredulous look. "Was he so hideous that it was a traumatic experience?"

"On the contrary. But it led to other things I'd rather have avoided, especially since I knew he was a cold-hearted bastard who would choose his beloved Porsche over a human life at any time."

Tell him about the Organization now, says a rebellious voice in your head. Ruin the mood by letting him know that you were once a member of the infamous syndicate Kudo and Hattori brought down three years ago. He must have heard about it because it was everywhere in the news.

"Why did you go out with him if you loathed him so much?" the stranger inquires, apparently not in the least interested in Gin's Porsche.

"The usual childhood dream that developed into a teenage crush, and I really hoped that he would change for me. Those were the days!"

"But some people do change for the person they love."

"Maybe, but neither of us belonged to those people. Perhaps we were both too obstinate to be an item." Pulling your legs onto the bed and turning your face towards the window so that he can dry your hair on the left side of your head, you decide to grill him about the women in his life instead of letting him squeeze all the details of your private life out of you. "So how many naked women have you already seen?"

"Quite a few," he nonchalantly says and laughs when your eyes meet his. "Are you jealous?"

"Why should I?"

"I don't know. You seem somewhat competitive," he thoughtfully twirls a strand of your hair around his fingers. "They were all actresses whose love scenes I had to watch during the silly acting classes my first agent forced me to attend. So you win again when it comes to experiences."

"So you still claim that you've never had a girlfriend?"

"It's the truth," he declares, "and I have a theory about why you always think I'm lying." He cocks his head and narrows his eyes to scrutinize you with the air of an investigator. "_You_ are lying to me all the time."

"You're making groundless accusations."

"You told me Kudo and you were only friends, that you weren't in love with him at all, and that Kuroba left you for his childhood friend." He lightly knocks the hairdryer on your head with each of his statements. "Three lies immediately after we met. Who is the liar now?"

"Kudo and I are only friends, I don't think I'm still in love with him although there are some lingering feelings, and Kaito did leave me immediately when his childhood friend wrote to him that she would return to Tokyo. I wasn't lying to you at all."

"So Kuroba and you went out with each other only one or two months before his marriage?"

"No, a year. He married her over a year after leaving me. They naturally didn't invite me, but I heard about it from a mutual friend."

"See, you're lying to me again! I actually attended their wedding, and they told me they had been dating for a month before their marriage. She returned to Tokyo about two months before they started going out with each other. It's their word against yours, and I don't know why they should lie about such a harmless thing. It's also hard for me to believe that Kuroba left you for her after only two weeks. He is the type that knows exactly what he wants and sticks to his decisions."

"And why, do you think, should I lie to you about Kaito?" you frown, simultaneously piqued by his impertinence and astonished by the things you've just learnt.

"Because you dumped him for Kudo?" he takes a wild guess while distractedly twirling another strand of your hair around his finger with obvious pleasure.

"I didn't. Kudo came first. A year before Kaito. Don't you dare give me locks or I'll cut off your ponytail," you shoot him your deadliest glare.

"So Kuroba was only his substitute? No wonder the poor guy couldn't take it longer than two weeks. He must have thought you had been kissing Kudo instead of him."

No, he wasn't, you sigh. You wouldn't have gone out with Kaito if his personality hadn't been somewhat different from Kudo's. There was no sense in repeating the same mistake for a second time, and Kaito had everything you liked about Kudo while lacking all the things that made Kudo and you incompatible. If he hadn't fled just when you began to feel a bit attached, you would most probably have ended up marrying your charming magician some day although you won't complain because you had, once again, narrowly escaped marriage. Nothing is as important and underrated as independence.

In the end, Kaito's face and voice turned out to be more of a hindrance than a help because it was impossible for you not to be reminded of Kudo when you were with him, you conclude. So much for the theory that you had been using Kaito as Kudo's substitute.

"It must have been extremely confusing," the stranger contemplates you with sympathy. "A bit like biting into a chocolate cake that looks exactly like a glass of vanilla ice-cream—"

"— which is taken away from one and served to another customer just when one has begun to enjoy it! Just like what happened with the vanilla ice-cream one liked so much... I'm glad you finally understand what I've been going through. That's why I'm on a diet now. No cake and no ice-cream will ever tempt me again! I want some type of food that belongs to me alone and that I can eat regularly without ruining my health."

"But what type of food am I for you?" the stranger asks with his most dazzling smile. However, this time you are deeply irritated by his casual flirting because you can suddenly imagine him saying the same to all the female celebrities and fans he encounters and forgets as soon as they are out of sight.

Nothing edible, you tell him in a friendly voice. Something which might look tempting at first glance (and smell deliciously at first sniff!) but is most probably poisonous the first time one takes a bite. He is to women in general and to you in particular the equivalent of a carnivorous plant to an insect, not that you would ever get the idea of comparing yourself to an insect. It's only an example to illustrate the kind of food he resembles—

"Thanks a lot," he gloomily retorts, removing his hand from your hair even though he is still aiming the hairdryer at your head as if it were a weapon. "If I were a carnivorous plant, you'd be fully digested by now, you moody little butterfly!"

"Oh, I was never stupid enough to fall into the trap. I'm the cautious and prudent type."

"What have I done to you?" he queries in disbelief. "Why couldn't you at least compare me to some type of sweets like Kuroba and Kudo?"

"You absolutely wanted to know the truth. It's not my fault if you can't handle it," you shrug. "Although they both dumped me for lame reasons, they are both people who can commit, marry and probably raise kids, albeit with women other than me. You, on the other hand, are the type that can't ever settle down."

"Aren't you the one that never settles down?" he raises his brow. "You told me yourself you aren't made for any kind of close relationship."

"I'm not. I've never pretended to be the girl-next-door men can marry and have kids with. But at least I don't have a reputation that would have made Casanova blush. You probably wouldn't have such a reputation either if you weren't flirting with any female you meet."

He usually doesn't flirt with strangers, he insists, and he has never told anyone so much about himself as he has told you. A ridiculous assertion which only strengthens your belief that flirting is so natural to him that he couldn't even stop if he wanted to.

"Apropos flirting," he chuckles, and you've already sighed inwardly when his following remark completely throws you off balance. "Did you once belong to the Black Organization?"

He has asked you the question in the same tone in which people ask you for the time, and you discover to your surprise that you don't feel even the slightest fear of him, only a strange sense of relief because you no longer need to hide it.

"I grew up in it. But what does the Organization have to do with flirting?" you ask him, stupefied.

"Infinity," he turns off the hairdryer with a victorious smile. "I think I saw you there once, although it was so long ago that I needed a while to figure out where I met you. After seeing the scars on your body — bullet wounds, aren't they? — I knew you must have led a more dangerous life than I thought, because your scars are of different sizes and some are already fading whereas others looked as if you had received them at a later time. So, when you mentioned your boyfriend who would have chosen his Porsche over a human life, I thought of the Organization and Infinity immediately came to mind."

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	25. Infinity

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**Infinity...**

Infinity... The name evokes images of infinite luxury and beauty, a golden cage so spacious, magnificent and comfortable that the exotic birds in it never felt the wish to escape. Infinity was also the crème de la crème of the world's private academies, the place where only the best were good enough and where telling your fellow classmates they were "pretty good" was consided a back-handed compliment because the students were said to be prodigies. Rumour had it that there was only one exception, a non-prodigy who was not admitted into this exclusive academy because of her humongous talents but because of a signed letter from an immensely powerful person and the persuasiveness of a loaded Beretta (which didn't belong to Gin but to another of the "seven crows" whose task was to monitor each and every of Professor Tomoe's movements). Calling to mind Infinity's mahogany desks, ornamental fountains and white marble stairs, you remember hating Infinity with passion because, notwithstanding the fact that you excelled in every single class in contrast to the prodigy brats who were usually experts in their own fields but morons outside of them, your classmates never let you forget that they considered you not good enough.

You also remember the sound of torrential rain and the biting cold air on your skin, Kudo's warm arms and the thick blanket he put over both of you, accidentally rubbing against your new wound in the process, the blinding mist of tears you tried to hide in the nape of his neck while he coldly, almost harshly, reminded you that there was no reason to cry over two well-aimed bullets because "your prompt reaction saved Hattori and me." And then his cheerful, ringing voice trying to distract you from feelings he thought to be shock and guilt: "By the way, Haibara, back at Infinity... Were you one of Stinger's guinea-pig prodigies?"...

It is no use to dwell on those memories, you decide, chiding yourself for thinking of them because Pandora's Box didn't have that much to do with Infinity. Infinity was only one of the many projects whose files were stored in the main computer along with the particulars of all the code name members. The computer itself, a huge device filling the whole cabin of the seemingly decrepit ship, was only the fake Pandora's Box, harmless and insignificant compared to the real one.

Your memories of Infinity are vivid but all topsy-turvy and jumbled up like small photographs in a giant cardbox. Sorting through them in search for the stranger's face among the junk, you discover that you remember more about your time at Infinity than you believed although most of your memories of it are hopelessly random. Decorating your high floor-to-ceiling bedroom windows overlooking Azabu Juuban with purple silk curtains, working for two days and nights in Professor Tomoe's lab with only a few short breaks to visit the bathroom and to devour two croissants you flushed down with ten or more cups of coffee, watching Kaioh Michiru's and Tenoh Haruka's pillow fight at six p.m. (your kitchen window overlooked Kaioh-san' bedroom) while trying to make chocolate with rum or rather rum with chocolate for Gin... Infinity was a time full of first experiences: The first black cocktail dresses and the first fitting labcoat, the first high-heels that almost landed you in hospital, the first self-made (and probably inedible!) rum-filled chocolate on Valentine's Day you ended up giving Tenoh-san as a revenge for snooping around the lab and sounding you out about the Organization, the first long nights in jazz bars sharing a bottle of Sherry with Gin, the first time you heard the stranger's voice, Kudo's face you saw for the first time in the newspapers, the incident with the red-haired girl, the first kisses and the first feelings of guilt, the first trip with Gin to Osaka... But in your memory, Infinity itself stays elusive, as if — while collecting so many experiences outside of it — you failed to take notice of Infinity as an institution.

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**"Infinity... Don't tell me..."**

"Infinity... Don't tell me that we once flirted with each other there because I absolutely can't remember it." Stealing another glance at the stranger's face, you ponder how you could have forgotten him if you had talked with each other at Infinity. Most probably, he was one of Stinger's treasured celebrity prodigies whom the mad professor had told about his pact with the "seven crows". It wouldn't surprise you because the lunatic had a special interest in talented musicians, actors and athletes with quick reactions and was so talkative during his laughing fits that Gin more than once asked the Boss for permission to do away with him.

"No, we didn't," the stranger smiles. "We met after a Christmas concert, don't you remember? I was standing in the queue to Michiru-sama's dressing room, talking to your sister when you came and dragged her away from me."

Michiru-sama... The only Michiru at Infinity was Tenoh Haruka's Kaioh Michiru, the gifted violinist, swimmer and painter whose illicit affair with Tenoh-san was overlooked by the school because both Tenoh-san and Kaioh-san were Stinger's so-called guinea-pig prodigies. Envied by all the girls at Infinity who either begrudged Kaioh-san her unmatched grace and unmatched beauty or adored Tenoh-san's long athletic legs and distant teal eyes that bewitched almost every female in "his" vicinity (Tenoh-san's real sex was a secret only a few people could guess), "Michiru-sama" always stayed the embodiment of serenity, elegance, innocence, gentleless and perfection at least outside the walls of her penthouse apartment of the dorm. Inside her apartment, however, she happily threw away her angelic mask and surprised you more than once by her choice of lingerie and her choice of movements when she danced wildly for Tenoh-san on the bedside table until they collapsed in a heap into the mess of crumbled clothes beneath them. That and other embarrassing episodes convinced you to keep the curtains of your kitchen window shut after five p.m. for fear of discovering too many things that were not meant for your eyes.

The only Christmas party during which Michiru-sama and her "best friend" Tenoh Haruka performed at Infinity (you remember it was Beethoven's Violin Romances because they were Akemi-nee-san's favourite pieces), you had been busy slaving away in Stinger's lab, writing long reports on apoptoxin and injecting a hundred white mice with the first prototype of APTX 4869, the one whose formula had just been found in the backup of your parents' files. It was your first task as Sherry and of such paramount importance for your future in the Organization and at Infinity that you consoled your sister with the promise to take her out for dinner and shut yourself up in the lab instead of watching the concert. Half an hour after the concert ended, the hall was still dotted with students in green and brown school uniforms (Infinity's colours) and people in black suits (the Organization's scouts often attended Infinity's parties and events in search of prospective fresh recruits); and you didn't need long to discover the only two colourful people among the dark crowd: Akemi-nee-san and a young man who, at second glance, was a boy about your age you had never seen before.

"You were the boy with the scarlet roses?" you let your eyes roam over the stranger's face in search of the person with a midnight-blue fedora, a long burgundy trenchcoat and a thick white shawl that looked like a beard — a ridiculous sight evoking the image of Santa Claus disguising as a secret agent or vice versa. After eight years, the only things you can still recognize are his high cheekbones and his intense eyes scrutinizing you inquisitively with an expression which, unlike Gin's calculating interest, resembled the unintentional and purposeless curiosity of a child.

Slightly irked about Akemi-nee-san's thoughtless introduction ("Here is my gorgeous workaholic sister I told you about...") and infuriated by the mocking smile which had stolen into his eyes, you threw something like "Hello" and "Sorry, we're in a hurry" at him before dragging your sister with you out of the hall. Shooting him a last glance over your shoulder, you noticed that he had already directed his attention to Professor Tomoe aka Stinger, laughing and carelessly waving the red roses in his hands as if he had forgotten their existence.

"I remember your sister and I talked a lot about you," the stranger smiles. "She suggested that I ask you out on a date to distract you from your work."

"And what was your response?"

"I said I was so busy I had to pass," he grins. "But I would find a way to make time if it was her who wanted a date with me."

"You tried to flirt with my sister?" you exclaim, enraged at the mental image.

"Just kidding," he laughs, pulling you into his arms again as if he has grown used to it. "I only flirted with Michiru-sama that night. But your sister even forced your phone number on me, imagine that."

"I should have known it," you give him a wry smile, freeing yourself from him with a sigh. Kaioh Michiru was easily the most beautiful girl you had ever seen, turning the heads of all the boys (and the heads of a few girls) at Infinity. It would have surprised you if he had not hit on her immediately after they met. "So you were in love with Kaioh-san before Odango?"

He wouldn't call it love, but he was her number one fan, the stranger gushes. In his whole life, he has never met another violinist who can move him more than she did, and he was devastated when she left the stage and abandoned the violin to focus on her paintings.

"She is one of those people who have too many talents. If she hadn't dedicated herself to one, she wouldn't have excelled at anything." You thoughtfully behold the lavender raindrops streaming down the window glass, thinking back to the umbrella Kaioh Michiru offered you on a rainy afternoon. Intrigued by the sincerity in the stranger's voice, you throw him a quizzical look: "So you were in love with her irresistible music and not her irresistible eyes?"

"Certainly not her looks. Michiru-sama is always so extremely elegant and flawless, so overly refined," he gives a dismissive wave. "She is not as harmless as she looks, though," his lips curve up in reminiscence. "I found her mysterious and very interesting, and I still think she is one of the nicest women alive, but I wasn't sad at all when I found out that she was Haruka-san's girlfriend. It was nothing compared to what I felt for Odango."

"I see," you remark, meaning you understand now that he prefers the cute type although he seems to have had some sort of history with Kaioh-san as well, judging from his words and his smile. But while you were curious a few minutes ago when you tried to grill him about the women in his life, the last thing you want to hear him talk about now is his fling-or-whatever-it-was with Kaioh Michiru.

"So you were so busy at Infinity that you didn't even have time to listen to the Christmas concert with your sister?" he leans towards you with interest. "You were wearing a lab coat when you fetched her. How old were you at that time? Sixteen, seventeen?"

Fifteen, about two years younger than "Michiru-sama", you tell him, although you did look a bit more mature than your age. You were fourteen when the Organization sent you to Infinity to complete your education and get some hands-on experience in Professor Tomoe's lab, and the Christmas concert with Kaioh Michiru and Tenoh Haruka was the last one at Infinity before Professor Tomoe went berserk the following summer and burnt down his own academy.

"Tomoe didn't go berserk," the stranger protests. "He burnt it down because he realized that his prodigy-project was a complete failure and that he should never have sold his freedom to the Organization to fund it."

"So it was Professor Tomoe who told you about the Organization?" you ask, realizing that he is fond of the mad scientist.

"He approached me the same evening I saw you and asked me to come to his academy. It was easy to put two and two together, hearing him talk about cocktails as if they had a life and seeing all the people in black who never took their eyes off him while he was talking to me."

"Was he interested in your musical genius? Or was it your skill of throwing your clothes into the washing machine without consciously aiming at it?"

"I think he was actually interested in my conspicuous lack of inhibition," he winks. "And what type of prodigy were you?"

"The prudish type," you demonstratively straighten your bathrobe. "He was intrigued by my violent dislike of flirtatious long-haired men! What I don't get is: You're only one year or a few months older than me. How come I never saw you at school?" A part of you — the serious one — wonders why he had not heard of the rumours surrounding you back at Infinity while another part of you can't help but grin at the mental picture of him in Infinity's somewhat bourgeois green-and-brown suit.

You've completely misunderstood, he replies. Tomoe asked him to come to Infinity but he declined. He only went to a few parties at Infinity afterwards and still visits the self-proclaimed Nero in his mental hospital from time to time. Tomoe has a weird sense of humour he likes.

"Why didn't you want to go to Infinity?" you ask. It was no wonder that you two never met because you never attended any of the parties.

Because he disliked Infinity's elitism and abhors all kinds of uniforms, he explains. Even in Juuban high school he only wore Three Lights' suit, and the teachers never managed to force him into a school uniform.

"Three Lights' suit? Isn't it a type of uniform as well?"

No, it isn't, he smiles. Matching clothes are a display of affinity between people who feel a sense of belonging to each other, not a type of uniform. Three Lights was his family and, at that time, family was for him the only thing that really mattered.

And why did the band split up, you would have liked to ask. But since you remember very well his reaction when you told him to sing for you, you decide not to give in to curiosity. Whatever the reason was, it is most probably gone by now if he considers returning to the stage with his former band members.

"I would never have recognized you if you hadn't told me," you tell him instead.

"So you were fooled by my brilliant disguise? I borrowed the clothes from the set of the 'Detective Boy Holmes' live action we were filming."

"Who was Holmes? No, let me guess: Detective Boy Holmes was, of course, you."

"Sadly no, since Taiki was Holmes. Yaten said he would take any role they gave him because he didn't care, so he ended up as Watson, which was the worst casting ever. You can't imagine how much he hates it when fans remind him of that role. Back then the gutter press claimed that he had great chemistry with Taiki, which started all kinds of weird rumours."

"Don't tell me you were Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson."

"I hate to disappoint you, but I was actually Moriarty after filming the one episode in which I played Godfrey Norton. They only changed my outfit and my hairstyle, which prompted some Sherlock Holmes fans to write fanfictions about Irene Adler marrying Moriarty without Watson's knowledge."

"You don't look like an evil mastermind to me," you skeptically behold the laugh lines around his smiling eyes.

"Do you mean it as an insult or as a compliment?" he raises his brow. "It was a very loose modern adaption, and looks are deceiving, as Akane-san, our director, always said. She liked to bully me and often kept me on the set for hours even when everyone else had left. Maybe she insisted on casting me as Moriarty because she wanted me to be the villain."

"Was her special weakness for you her reason for making Moriarty look like Santa Claus?"

"Why Santa Claus? She thought a true villain had to wear a fedora, a long trenchcoat and a turtleneck. For Infinity, I only added the scarf to hide my face."

"And the red roses as a kind of shield. Or were they supposed to be a weapon?"

"No, the roses were actually a present."

And? How did Kaioh-san react to his confession, you ask him. You gather he wasn't very successful, considering his claim that he has never been kissed and the fact that she is still with Tenoh-san, according to the press...

What confession, he stares at you, apparently oblivious.

"Your giant bouquet of roses. Any girl would take it as a declaration of love, or was it only an expression of your ardent admiration?"

Those roses were actually a present for him from a fan of his, he smiles, visibly delighted by your misunderstanding. Shizuka-san — his present agent, who was back then the daughter of his first agent — started a hype when she came up with the concept of letting Three Lights throw three giant roses into the crowd before a concert. Since his colour was red, he often received scarlet roses from his fans.

"All the three of us were somewhat weary of throwing roses after a few months. But the girls loved the idea so much that we had to uphold the tradition. Yaten tried to rebel by 'accidentally' dropping his yellow rose until the girls decided to climb on the stage to get it. Afterwards he tossed his rose as far away as he could just like Taiki and me, preferably at a girl who didn't look as if she would stalk us."

"So that's how you learnt to aim so well? Do the colours of your roses mean anything, or did Shizuka-san choose them randomly?" Examining the poster you saw of Two Lights again in your mind, you try to deduce the reason why Shizuka-san chose yellow for Yaten and white for Taiki. If they had kept the same colours from their time as Three Lights, Yaten must be the short silver-haired man with the yellow rose on his suit while the tall brown-haired man wearing the white rose must be Taiki. You would have swapped their roses because, in your opinion, the white rose would have matched Yaten's looks more although you wholeheartedly agree with Shizuka-san's choice to assign the stranger the red one. Perhaps, so you surmise, Shizuka-san assigned the colours to Three Lights according to their personalities.

Because of the_ san hikari_, the stranger explains. Since their family name means "Light", Shizuka-san simply let them switch their family name with their first names and called the band "Three Lights", alluding to the san hikari, the three lights of shinto.

"The roses represent the three lights. Yellow is supposed to be the colour of the stars while white is supposed to be the colour of the moon—"

"And you are the sun for the daughter of your agent? You should be ashamed of yourself for turning the head of the poor girl," you remark, frowning because something about the colours of their roses bothers you although you can't really put your finger on the reason why you should give a damn.

Shizuka-san is anything but a 'poor girl', the stranger says, and he thinks she only loves his singing. But you will know why she chose the sun for him after meeting Yaten and Taiki because neither of them can be called "warm" at first glance.

"On the other hand, some people are definitely too warm for their own sake," you glare at him.

"So, are you getting burnt?" he smiles and brings his face dangerously close to yours until you can feel his breath on your skin and instinctively close your eyes. In the silence, you can discern the sound of a suppressed chuckle and open your eyes just in time to see him pulling away, lips curved up by a mischievous smile and eyes still half closed.

Admittedly, you had been struck by his easy manner and his sense of fun at first, but now you are rather irked by his frivolous treatment of you and his inability to take this (date, friendship, prospective love affair or whatever it is) a bit more serious. Trembling with rage and determined to pay back the inveterate flirt for his increasingly annoying pranks, you quickly grab his ponytail, wrap it around your hand and bend down in an attempt to tie it around a leg of the bed. Contrary to your expectations, he doesn't resist at all but immediately yields to the movement of your hand, wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you down with him as he lets himself fall on the carpeted floor.

"Jerk at my hair like that again and I'll take this off," he threatens, his hand toying with the belt of your bathrobe. In the ensuing silence, you are acutely aware of your entangled limbs and the closeness which has become strangely familiar, the sound of his heart beating wildly against your chest and the feeling of his fingers stroking your arm in an almost involuntary caress. Encouraged by the sight of his gaze resting longingly on your lips, you stay glued to his body and wait (fixing his eyes in eager anticipation and mentally preparing yourself for giving this platonic friendship a beautiful funeral) until his bewildered eyes meet yours and you realize in crushing disappointment that the clueless fool — instead of kissing you — is waiting for a response.

"I dare you," you grudgingly roll down from him, prop yourself up on one elbow and yank at his ponytail again. "I've won this round, you harmless little kid. You don't even dare to kiss me, much less undress me like that!"

Still disgruntled and humiliated by your victory, you regally plant yourself on his bed, readjust your bathrobe, cross your legs, toss him the hairdryer and demand "Finish drying my hair for me now, loser!" when he suddenly pulls himself to his feet with the belt of your bathrobe, undoing the knot in the process.

"Let's call it quits," he says, letting go of the belt and brushes his lips against your hair. "I fear I've already broken a promise tonight, and your detective is waiting for you at home."

"What promise?" you ask, distracted by his gesture whose meaning you can't grasp (Did he mean to say he likes your hair although he doesn't want to kiss you?) before it dawns on you what promise he must have meant.

"Oh, come on," he exclaims in exasperation, shooting you a wry smile while the unnerving wish of breaking the other promise with him as well flits across your mind.

But naturally, you know better than propose such an outrageous thing to a person who — for a reason you can't comprehend — doesn't even dare to peck you on your cheek. Either he has taken those "promises" too seriously and sticks to them now with idiotic firmness or he has scruples because he is afraid of ruining your (non-existent) chances with Kudo. At least it cannot be shyness or the fear of rejection, you think to yourself. As bold as brass and undoubtedly observant, he must have noticed by now that you are not averse to kissing him. In any case, it seems you will have to kiss him first because he obviously won't kiss you. But unfortunately, you have never learnt to initiate a kiss either because all the other men in your life had started it.

Before your eyes, you can already see the two of you spending a lifetime together in his apartment or yours, sharing the shower with each other, hugging and flirting and cracking suggestive jokes while dry-blowing each other's hair every day for about sixty to seventy years without either of you daring to step on the boundaries of friendship. But as much as you want to do it, you can't bring yourself to kiss him for fear that, being the unpredictable idiot he is, he might really reject you for some obscure reason.

Helpless in view of this Catch-22 situation and for lack of words, you fail to say anything in reply to his confession (Was it really a confession or did he only try to tell you in his flirtatious way that nothing will ever come out of this?) and only let him dry your hair for you in silence while, outside, the rain is still coming down in sheets as the world is still warmed by the first light of dawn.

g.

* * *

**AN: **Yay, I inserted a short Kudo-flashback because he is still asleep. But unfortunately I can't wake him up too soon since Detective Shiho has to gather information first before she can return.


	26. Kudo Shinichi, too

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

g.

FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

g.

**Kudo Shinichi, too...**

Kudo Shinichi, too, was once a complete stranger — a fact which seems unimaginable to you now that Kudo has become an integral part of your life despite his conspicuous physical absence. Claiming that you miss him would be a bit of an overstatement because you've grown accustomed to not seeing much of him during the past three years. Nevertheless, there are moments when the sight of a skateboard, a pair of black-rimmed glasses or a football would suddenly bring a lump to your throat. In those ludicrously sentimental moments which, luckily, have become rare at last, you would recall that you were numb with shock when you saw Kudo in his grown-up form for the first time. Back then, the thought hit you that Edogawa Conan never really existed because he was only a shrunk version of Kudo Shinichi, a stranger with piercing grey-blue eyes and an aura so extraordinarily brilliant and pristine that it almost offended you.

Stealing another glance at the stranger whose extremely kissable lips appear even more tempting with every passing second (while people claim that the eyes of love are blind, your infatuated eyes (and ears and nose) are surprisingly sharp), you wonder how your first meeting with Kudo would have been if the two of you had only met by accident in a park like you and "stranger-san". Would Kudo and you have felt an instant connection with each other as well? Or would he only have shot you one of his typical brief analytical glances, mentally splitting you up into thousands of tiny particles and then piecing you together again to put on you the stamp "Potential culprit/witness/victim, registered and analyzed in Ueno-koen on Friday night at 6:30 p.m." before filing a miniature version of you away in a drawer of his perfectly-ordered mind?

Most probably, Kudo would never have developed any feelings for you at all if you two had met outside the setting of a mystery because you are simply not his type. Similarly, you, too, would never have seen more in him than an impressively smart stranger with observant eyes. And before he could explain to you how he had deduced your occupation and educational background at first glance, the woman he would have been waiting for would already have interrupted your little chat because she certainly wouldn't have got lost on the way to Ueno-koen.

Whatever... Even if you two — caught in the crossfire of the clash between the Organization and the FBI — had stumbled across each other without being shrunk, you reflect, you would never have seen anything else in Kudo but your ticket to freedom. You would have found him good-looking but not attractive, charismatic but not charming, brilliant but not witty, friendly but not endearing. And the fact that he was, all in all, pretty much a girl's perfect knight in shining armour would probably have bored you.

On the other hand, your interest might have been ignited by his passion for mystery and his childlike exuberance. When you saw him for the first time in person, Edogawa Conan didn't immediately stand out among his classmates as you had expected. As long as he could maintain enough self-control to hold back his deductions, Kudo could effortlessly blend in with the children who weren't even half of his age, and you remember you found the contrast between his essentially rational character and his unguarded emotional outbursts intriguing. In fact, you remember you thought his smug boyish face was oddly interesting the first time you saw it.

"Are you thinking of your detective again?" the stranger asks, interrupting your train of thought.

"How did you get that idea?" you stare at him, unnerved by his ability to read your mind.

With a sigh, he turns off the hairdryer, gives your hair a final stroke and gazes dreamily into the mirror before he raises his brow at you and haughtily declares in a flawless imitation of your voice: "How did you get the idea that I'm thinking of Kudo all the time? I admit I had a weakness for him once... but I'm really not in love with him anymore."

"Who taught you to impersonate other people like that?" you knit your brows, undecided about whether you should be irked by his impertinence or impressed by his acting.

He has been doing it since he was small, the stranger declares, glowing with pride. Taiki and Yaten don't appreciate it when he imitates them, though.

"I can imagine... But if you think I've been fantasizing about Kudo's beautiful eyes, you're dead wrong this time."

"So you've been fantasizing about something else? If it was about his beautiful lips you didn't get to touch because he bailed without a kiss, it's the same to me."

"Actually I have been thinking of kissing," you remark, surprising yourself with your boldness. "Do you want me to tell you about it?" Unfortunately, you don't really know how to continue. "Since holding your hand gave me the same feeling as holding Kudo's hand, I wondered what kissing you would feel like," would be the truth but would also be the perfect beginning to ruin your chances at getting a kiss from him for good.

"So you did kiss him?" the stranger asks, misunderstanding your intention completely.

"No such luck," you sigh, wondering how a clueless guy like him could have gained such a notorious reputation. "He was about to kiss me when a friend of his walked in on us."

"When it comes to love, you're cursed just like me," the stranger jokes. "Just follow my example and give it up already."

"I've already given it up long ago. But you should at least have feigned sympathy," you give him a disapproving look. "Haven't your parents taught you how to behave when a woman tells you the sob story of her life?"

"They did. They also taught me not to ask a woman who is in love with someone else to go out with me at night, but I've never been good at following their advice."

He surely has flirting down to a fine art, managing to flatter you and keep you at arm's length at the same time. After letting you know that nothing will ever come out of this, he thinks he can pretend that you are tantalizingly out of reach and woo you like a Petrarchan lover now without having to fear that you will take him at his word.

"So, do you regret it now? Even the weather is against us. You should have asked another woman who is not jinxed to go out with you."

As if it were trying to illustrate your statement, the torrential rain outside pelts down even faster, lashing against the windowpane, and both of you turn your heads when a gust of wind rattles the window. Somewhere in the darker recesses of your mind, you can still feel the irrational old fear that Gin's ghost will come back to haunt you at twilight.

"No, not in the least," the stranger smiles, "I'm glad I asked you although I can tell you're thinking of Kudo again, judging from the look on your face. Perhaps I should consider making a living of my mind-reading skills instead of my singing."

"You'd starve because your mind-reading skills are unreliable. I've been thinking of somebody else this time."

"Some other ex-boyfriend? You had this nostalgic ex-boyfriend look on your face."

"The one who told me about the ghost at twilight. I used to have nightmares about him dying a sudden death and then coming back to life to haunt me."

"Were you terrified of having to confess to him or just afraid of his ghost?"

"I was terrified of being responsible for his death. After all, I knew I could never have forced myself to confess. There is something extremely humiliating about this whole confessing and making a fool of oneself. As long as one doesn't know for sure one's feelings are being reciprocated, one should refrain from doing such a thing to spare both sides the embarrassing situation."

In your mind, you can see the scene as clearly as if you had never forgotten that night, the strips of moonlight on the yellow-ochre sheets, the deformed teddy bear in your arms, Gin's long ponytail and his sharp profile in the soft light while a feeling of unease suddenly comes over you when you think of Kudo's silhouette against the ending twilight.

"Are you all right?" the stranger slightly touches your arm.

"Perfectly," you reply, dismissing a peculiar thought which has just flitted across your mind. "I only forgot to tell you that both Kudo and Kaito know the story of the ghost at twilight as well although their versions are completely different from yours and mine."

"And how are their versions?" he asks, pulling the blanket over your naked feet. To your surprise, you realize that you must have been freezing without noticing it.

"Kaito's version is about a spirit trying to steal a heart during a magical twilight while Kudo's version is about a ghost coming back to life for a day to say farewell to the person it loved. Two completely different versions of the same story again."

"Since there are already so many different versions, we should make up our own version of it," he suggests. "I don't know how yours will end, but I'm definitely going to give mine a happy ending."

Even though many memories of your time as Haibara Ai have become blurred over the years, you still remember distinctly the school play during which Kudo played Ran's knight and carelessly removed his helmet in front of everybody's eyes to solve the murder while you were impersonating Edogawa to allay Ran's suspicion. Seeing them in their costumes on stage together, the thought suddenly occurred to you that Kudo and Ran must have grown up with different fairy tales than you did. Theirs were most probably about noble knights who rescued and married their beautiful princesses — stories about secure, requited and everlasting loves — whereas the fairy tale you grew up with was a ghost story which denied the feasibility of enduring love.

That was the moment when you realized that Kudo and you were galaxies apart...

The stranger, too, apparently belongs to the people who have grown up with happy endings, and you perceive for the first time the gaping gulf between the two of you which you haven't noticed before. Regrettably, the rules of magnetism don't really apply to human beings. When it comes to love, opposites usually attract but also tend to push each other apart in the long run.

"And, how does that happily-ever-after look like?" you ask, feeling exhausted and sleep-deprived again. The euphoria of the last hour is wearing off, and you remember the same happened in Paris when you tried to picture a future with Kudo and came to the conclusion that your story with him would never have a happy ending.

"I don't know it yet. But of course everybody is going to live happily ever after. Fairy tales are supposed to end like that."

"Real life never ends like that," you rest your head on his large pillow and bury yourself up to your shoulder under his fluffy blanket. "Unrequited love might be agony as long as it lasts, but I think it's the requited one which actually kills one in the end. The only fair thing in love lies in the fact that one will always suffer no matter whether one gets or doesn't get what one wanted."

"Why?" He gives you a skeptical look. "Getting something you want or not getting something you want usually makes an enormous difference."

"Not when it comes to love because it's impossible to have such an intimate relationship with another person for long without giving up yourself. After a while, the differences can't be ignored — or you do manage to ignore them but that would be the end of love as well. Long-term relationships are built on never-ending sacrifices and disenchantment. Sometimes, when I see old married couples together, I almost pity them! Infatuation only lasts for a couple of weeks. Afterwards it's like dealing with a car crash in slow motion..."

You don't need to be a prodigy to know that this is definitely the wrong approach to ask the stranger for a kiss. What's more, you can't understand why you couldn't resist the urge to bore him with your tedious introspection. You can't even make out what you actually want from him after the kiss you are craving for despite not believing in long-term relationships. Although you don't want a fling with no strings attached, you can't believe that two freedom-loving people like he and you will ever end up in something as suffocating as marriage either.

Meanwhile, the first glimmer of dawn lazily lingers on just like the last gleam of twilight, bathing the stranger's small bedroom in a nostalgic reddish glow, and you distractedly note that love seems to sneak up on you whenever you believe to have evaded it. Capricious, uncommitted and perpetually kindling desire which can never be satisfied, the unreasonable passing fancy seems to impose its tyrannical reign on you when you are least expecting it just out of spite.

"There are many cases like that, but they are certainly not the rule. I think Mamoru-san and Odango are genuinely happy with each other despite their occasional tiffs," he counters. "And they've been together for nine or ten years by now."

Odango... There is something about the way he pronounces the little nickname which wakes you up from your impossible dream that this unexpected spark of fascination between the two of you could actually develop into something serious.

"Since you believe that I'm thinking of Kudo all the time, I bet you're always thinking of Odango, right?" you observe with as much nonchalance as you can muster.

"Almost always," he admits. "I just wondered what she would say about this."

"About what?"

He gives you a look of exasperation and disbelief.

"Don't tell me you really didn't get what I told you earlier."

"I didn't," you cast him a confused glance, "or at least I'm not sure about what you wanted to say."

"You must be kidding me," he murmurs, looking so crestfallen that you begin to wonder whether he is really so naive and fixated on the idea that you are still in love with Kudo that he is missing all of your hints.

"So, what would she say about this?" you ask, feeling your eyelids drooping and your limbs growing heavier with every breath you take. His soft murmur combined with the rhythm of the falling rain in the background sounds almost like a lullaby to your ears, and his tiny bed is so comfortable that you feel like curling up next to him and go to sleep in an instant — social norms be damned!

"She'd tell me that I'm even more of a masochist than she had thought," he says with a smile. "But you're tired. I can leave you alone now and wake you up in an hour or two if you like."

"Don't," you sleepily force your eyes open. "You should try to keep me awake instead."

"What about coffee?" he suggests. "I made us some while you were still in the bathroom." He swiftly rises from the bed and puts the hairdryer into his wardrobe. "Or would you rather go to Two Lights now? I can lend you my clothes since it will take our clothes a few hours to dry."

Coffee, you decide without as much as a second thought, because going to Two Lights in his clothes isn't really an option. The reporters would get a wrong impression if they spotted the two of you together again at Two Lights and noticed that you had changed your clothes in the meantime, apart from the fact that you would look odd in his clothes because he and you don't wear the same size.

"I think everybody has already gone home by now," he says in an attempt to dispel your fears, "and people will always think whatever they want to. Not changing clothes will probably give them the same ideas although I wouldn't really mind if you—"

"Of course I would mind," you give him a black look. "The last thing I need now is appearing in the news as the latest conquest of an infamous womanizer like you."

"So you're afraid that Kudo will get the wrong impression about us?" he laughs, eyes bright with excitement. "Now I feel like taking a photo of you in my bathrobe and mail it to him just to see his reaction."

"He wouldn't be fooled by it. Knowing him, I'm sure he will deduce everything within a few seconds."

"You mean the only way for us to shock him out of his apathy is getting married?" the stranger playfully furrows his brows. "When, do you think, are the hours of business of the municipal office? Do you have time on Monday?"

Although you know he is only joking, his voice sounded so convincing and honest that, under different circumstances, you would have sworn that he is serious.

"Since I don't mind having someone who does all my housework, you should be more careful with your jokes or you will really end up marrying me. And I must warn you that I'm not an easy woman to be with."

"I'm looking forward to seeing your face when I drag you to the municipal office next week," he throws you a challenging smile on the way to the door. "Will you dare to sign the papers or will you try to bail like you did with the shower?"

For a moment, you are tempted to take on his challenge just to see his face when he realizes that he has shot himself in the foot. But then you decide against it, partly because you are tired and partly because you are not in the mood to tease him.

"I thought we wanted to call it quits," you remind him instead.

"I'm not joking," he asserts. "I'm sure Kudo will explode as soon as he hears that you're married to me, and I promise that if you want to be free because he tells you he'd like the two of you to start anew, I won't cause any trouble for you but divorce you immediately."

"If you think you can turn me into your short-term affair that way, I'll pass," you reluctantly leave his cozy bed to join him at the door. "Since he won't ever come back to me, I might get the idea to keep you as my house slave for life if we really married."

He blushes at your accusation.

"I only meant to sign the papers although I'd be the last one to complain if you ended up marrying me for real," he laughs, pulling you by your elbow with him into the corridor. "But why do you think Kudo won't ever come back? As things are, I bet he is going to sabotage our wedding if you let him know about our engagement beforehand. I'm really looking forward to that."

"I hate to disappoint you, but I've already given him a good reason to break up with me once. Kudo is not the type who makes the same mistake again."

"A few minutes ago you still claimed that Kuroba and Kudo both broke up with you for lame reasons," the stranger wickedly remarks. "It wouldn't surprise me if Kudo's version of the story is very different from yours and that the one who bailed was in reality you."

"No, it was him who left," you glower at the insolent wretch who has dared to tell you to your face that he doubts your credibility, "although it doesn't matter who broke up with whom because it's all water under the bridge now. I don't think either of us wants to revive something which has been dead for years."

For a brief moment, he hesitates with one hand on the door handle, scrutinizing you with his probing eyes as if he were about to cross-examine you about the breakup. But then he apparently remembers that you've told him not to touch on that subject tonight and only gives you a strangely enigmatic smile before ushering you into his living room.

g.


	27. Proceeding to the large

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

g.

FS

g.

**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

g.

**Proceeding to the large...**

Proceeding to the large single window where the first light of dawn is reflected in the streams of water running down the blue-tinted glass, you realize that one can see the street where you live from the stranger's window as it overlooks the southern part of Azabu Juuban.

"It's unbelievable that I've never seen you through this window, isn't it?" The stranger smiles, following your gaze. "Or maybe I've already seen you many times without noticing. Everybody looks almost the same from this height except for Odango whose hairstyle I'd recognize everywhere."

"Maybe we weren't supposed to meet," you observe, consulting your watch whose hands say six o'clock. The second hand seems to move more slowly than usual, a strange phenomenon which can only be explained by your heightened awareness of time since yesterday's twilight.

"You mean fate had something against us?" he asks in mild amusement, pouring espresso into two small printed coffee cups. "If it had, it must have changed its mind last night."

Don't run away from your destiny, Kudo once told you, surprising you because you had not expected that someone like him could believe in a thing like fate. For you, destiny is a path one can only recognize in retrospect, an illusion of order which materializes out of the mess of life when a series of coincidences have led to an inescapable conclusion. Six years after Kudo's remark, it appears to you as if the "destiny" he referred to has chosen you to betray him and to deactivate Pandora's Box. But at that moment, it was only a sentence which moved you because you realized that the detective who just impulsively risked his life to save yours was so pure and naive that he would never stand a chance against the Organization...

"Why should I blame it on fate?" you join the stranger at the round coffee table in front of the window. "You were the one who turned down Professor Tomoe's invitation to come to Infinity."

"I still think it was a good decision," he smiles, placing a cup in front of you. "If I had come to Infinity, we wouldn't be here together now."

"Most probably. Or we would but many things would be different," you agree. Whether it would be for the better or for the worse if he had come to Infinity, you do not know. Nevertheless, you have a funny feeling that he is the person you've always missed. And the fact that you suddenly encountered him at twilight on the bench where you expected to find Kudo simultaneously thrills and disturbs you.

Afterwards you both watch the rain in comfortable silence, for the scent of coffee or the previous subject of your talk has put the stranger into a contemplative mood. Letting your eyes roam the cream-walled living room where large bouquets of scarlet roses, fastidiously wrapped presents and fan letters in colourful envelopes are scattered haphazardly over the carpeted floor, you draw the analogy between his life and this room where one can't move about freely without stumbling over unwanted tokens of love.

Turning your gaze back to his face, you catch him watching you with friendly but unreadable eyes.

"If there was really something like destiny, I'd certainly fight it," he smiles. "I've never liked the idea of predestination. You?"

"I don't like it either. But if there was something like destiny, it would be futile to fight it. After all, the main tenet of the whole destiny theory is that you can never escape your fate..."

You know many people who believe in the idea of destiny, you tell him between two sips of the espresso his coffee maker has kept so hot that it almost burns your lips, and you can imagine why destiny enjoys such popularity. It gives happy people a sense of security and eases the pain of unhappy people by offering them the perfect scapegoat. You yourself have sometimes indulged in it when the burden of responsibility for your own failures and mistakes became too heavy for you to bear.

"But have you ever really believed in it?"

"Only to a certain extent... I still believe in it, in a way. I think we all start under conditions that influence the course of our lives more than we'd like to admit — but I don't believe in things like the red string of fate."

"I've never believed in it either," he wraps his hands around his cup as if he were trying to warm them. "It's a handy tool against jealousy, though. Just label your present partner your 'true love' and you'll be able to convince yourself that they will stay with you for life."

Jealousy... The word triggers memories of an afternoon at the aquarium with Rye and the following night in Professor Tomoe's lab with Gin, of pain, handcuffs, suffocating cigarette qualms and gleaming cigarette butts... And you hastily take a huge gulp of the hot espresso to mask the unpleasant taste the memory has brought to your mouth.

"Are you often jealous at Chiba-san?" you casually ask.

"At Mamoru-san? Not at all," the stranger languorously sips his espresso in contentment. He doesn't think one can call it jealousy because he only regarded "Mamoru-san" as the main obstacle to what he wanted. All in all, he isn't the jealous type though he wouldn't ever go as far as sharing his girlfriend or wife like people who believe in open relationships do.

You can't help but laugh. He has just talked about sharing a lover as if it were only an alternative way of life or a personal habit, convincing you that, in a way, it is.

"I doubt you will ever have to. With all your obsessive female fans in mind, I think it's your future girlfriend or wife who will have to share you."

His vivid eyes follow the movement of your hand to rest on the bouquets of roses on the floor.

"I only got so many since the announcement of Taiki's and Yaten's comeback," he gives a dismissive wave. "People are trying to convince me to return to the stage as well."

"And? Will you?"

"I don't know yet," he evasively says. "It depends..."

Without continuing his sentence, he suddenly jumps from the sofa.

"Would you like a piece of cake?" he changes the topic after a glance into the fridge. "I have tiramisu and chocolate cake ready to be served. Judging from the size of the pieces, Taiki was in a good mood."

"So your flower-loving brother can bake as well?"

"Oh, there is nothing Taiki can't do. He is great at anything: housework, cooking, baking, gardening, music, poetry, art, sciences... I'm glad he isn't here since he is exactly your ideal house husband type. That would ruin my chances of tricking you into marrying me some day." He raises his hands balancing two china plates. "Which one do you want, chocolate cake or tiramisu?"

"Either is fine for me. But you see, there is a world of differences between what we think we want and what we're really gravitating to... I've just discovered I have an unfortunate weakness for reckless and clueless men who can't even cook—"

"— men like Kudo, I know," he gives you a wry smile. "But you're somewhat slow yourself." Leaving the plates on the kitchen table, he rummages through his drawer in search of the ideal spoon before settling with two forks. "Any other woman would have understood perfectly what I told you earlier and at least given me a response. But you're so fixated on your detective that you wouldn't even get what I meant if I repeated it to you!"

There is no limit to his unparalleled idiocy, you realize. However, it is quite apparent to you now that he would immediately kiss you if he weren't convinced that you aren't interested in him because you're still clinging to your feelings for Kudo. To be honest, the thought of Kudo leaving for Osaka still upsets you for no reason, as if these new feelings of yours haven't extinguish the old ones at all but simply coexist with them, sharing the same host in the same easy way in which the stranger breezes through life.

"So which one looks more tempting," he asks again after returning to the table. "Chocolate cake or tiramisu?"

"I don't care," you shrug, eying the two plates full of empty calories you expect to find on your hips soon. "They both look delicious. Just give me the one you don't want. Either of them will do."

"Fine," he chuckles and places both plates in front of himself. "If you really don't care, I will keep both." Smirking at your undoubtedly stupefied face, he arms himself with a fork and smugly adds: "Since you can't decide which one you want, it's only fair that you don't get either."

"At least I won't be the one who puts on weight," you testily remark, watching him sip coffee and eat both cakes at the same time with contagious appetite.

"What about burning the calories together?" he winks, shoving a large piece of tiramisu into your mouth when you open it to ask him what he was actually suggesting. "I hope you remember you agreed to dance with me as long as I stick to my word and keep my hands off you."

g.

* * *

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**As much as you would like to...**

As much as you would like to keep your word, there is no way you can go with him to Two Lights' now, you discreetly direct his attention to the oversized bathrobe you are wearing lest he has forgotten about it. Also, you will have to go home when your clothes are dry because you don't want Kudo to investigate your disappearance and find you in the company of a man you've only known for a few hours at Two Lights'. Before your eyes, you can already see Kudo crouching in front of your landlady's azalea shrubs, inspecting fresh footsteps on the grass and a strand of long black hair his hawklike eyes have immediately spotted in the maze of blazing red Azalea blossoms...

Who knows what Kudo will be capable of if he decides to treat your private life as a new case out of sheer boredom — apart from his gift for attracting murders wherever he goes. You can also imagine him rolling his eyes at your instantaneous and intense crush on a stranger of dubious reputation while comparing it to his own steady relationship with his devoted and faithful future wife. Perhaps he might even feel a slight pang of jealousy at seeing the old friend he had been in love with for a few weeks so completely smitten with the same culprit who once evaded him with style. And you inwardly grin at the thought of him fishing for his APAH bottle in the bulging pocket of his short leather jacket, taking out ten to fifteen APAH capsules to fight the beginnings of a new migraine...

"I actually have a lot of work to do as well," you continue, rapidly calculating the time you will need for Kudo's check-up in your mind. Taking account of the possibility that you might have to alter the formula for APAH to suit Kudo's requirements, you surmise that you will be working like a maniac for the whole afternoon.

"Ah," your imperfect but devastatingly attractive stranger (Does he really look like this in reality or does he only look like this in your eyes?) gives you an understanding smile and innocently remarks: "You will be working until Kudo leaves to fetch his girlfriend from the train, I suppose."

Since you don't know how to tell him about APAH and APTX4869 without giving him the impression that you are as mad as a hatter (or as a certain white-haired professor who once believed that he could create a superhuman race), you only shrug — hoping that you come across as delightfully enigmatic — and ignore his implication.

"I'll be free after six at the latest, though. We can have dinner together and go out for a dance afterwards if you have time."

Or to put it into other words: What about repeating our rendezvous on a daily basis? Not even a clueless idiot of Kudo's calibre can miss the hint that you would like to give this puzzling relationship a clearer definition.

"I do have time tonight, but I don't get why we can't dance together here and now," he responds in an elegant attempt to pass up your offer without hurting your feelings.

"You can't be serious," you try to mask your disappointment by emptying your cup of coffee. He is disturbingly hard to read, tempting you with impossible suggestions while obstinately keeping his distance at the same time. Haven't you yourself categorized him as the type that will never commit? Blaming his evasiveness on his naiveté would be self-deception since it is indisputable that you just asked him for a second date and were coolly dismissed with a polite rejection.

"Why not?"

"No space?" you smile at him in bewilderment. To all appearances, he really intends to dance with you right now regardless of your unconventional attire and the fact that you two can't turn on the speakers in his apartment for fear of disturbing the neighbourhood.

"There will be enough space if we move the flowers into the corridor and the kitchen," he gracefully rises from his armchair and gives your shoulder a little nudge. "Come on, give me a hand, will you?"

After dividing the bouquets of roses between the corridor and the small kitchen adjoining the living room, the two of you proceed to inspect his presents and fan letters as you refuse to throw away so many lovingly wrapped boxes unopened into the trash bag he has placed on the floor.

"Trust me, I know exactly what they usually contain," he claims, "which is why I'm going to dump anything which is wrapped in red or black or has a heart on it unopened to spare us the embarrassment."

In spite of your prudish character, you don't get easily embarrassed by love letters no matter how impertinent and corny, you retort. Since he seriously wishes to get rid of all his fan letters and presents, you will consider them yours and open all of them to have a look at what he is so afraid of.

"Don't forget that I've warned you," he sighs in defeat, shaking his head at your obstinacy.

"What do you usually do with all your fan mails which aren't red or black and don't have a heart on them? Filing them away to publish them in your memoirs as a postscript?" you give the letter he is now reading a skeptical look.

"No," he smiles at you, casually ripping the letter apart. He only keeps a few he likes and throws away the rest. When he was still a teen idol, he sometimes replied to the fan letters he liked on the radio.

"How nice of you."

"I actually like this one," he tells you, handing you a small watercolour card he has just decided to keep because he thinks one can call it art. Yaten dumped (and still dumps) all types of fan letters without reading them while Taiki used to keep all of them for purely intellectual reasons. Taiki also used to answer to most of the fan letters in his spare time, claiming that he only did it because he was fascinated by the workings of the human mind.

"But back then Kakyuu was still alive," the stranger turns away to place the two letters he intends to keep onto the coffee table. "She used to choose the ones she liked most and asked us to answer to them first." Taking a giant laced bra and a pair of heavily perfumed panties out of a red box to throw it casually into the trash bag, he explains to you that "Kakyuu" was his lovely foster sister who was one year older than him and who Taiki, Yaten and he had been in love with during their early teenage years.

"In retrospect, I think one can say we had been sharing her," he admits. "Somehow it worked without any complications since we all got along extremely well."

"You mean you lied at me when you said you didn't have a childhood friend?" you shoot him a withering look.

"I didn't consider her a childhood friend since I seldom saw her — she went to a private girls' school until she was ten — and because she was my sister... well, sort of."

"'Sort of?' It makes a real difference, doesn't it? If she had been your real sister, it would have been incest."

"That's exactly why I added the 'sort of'—"

"— You also told me you would never go as far as sharing your girlfriend!"

"She was never really my girlfriend. It was a purely platonic love. We only held hands and hugged. I was never jealous of either Taiki or Yaten."

"Say... did you 'sort-of' kiss her, your sort-of sister/girlfriend/childhood friend?"

"If you consider a peck on her cheek as 'sort-of-kissing,' yes."

Life became increasingly insufferable at home due to the overprotectiveness of his foster parents (and their fully justified worries about their children's unconventional love life?), he tells you while quickly ripping apart a long letter from another fan after skimming it. Perhaps that's why Yaten, Taiki and he rebelled when they were fifteen, leaving home with the declaration that they were going to take Kakyuu with them as soon as they could take care of themselves.

"It took us only a few weeks before we realized we had bitten more off than we could chew," he opens a box of chocolate-coated praline and offers a heart-shaped piece to you. "There we were, three spoiled teenagers running away from perfectly nice foster parents who were begging us to come home because they could already see us ending as burglars or hired assassins. Taiki considered going home but Yaten and I would rather have died than admitted that we failed. If Shizuka-san's father hadn't discovered us during one of our street performances, we would still be working in the circus for food and lodging."

"So you convinced your foster sister to leave your parents and live with you after you became a teen idol?" you ask with a short glance at the white bench and the parasol you can see through the open door.

"Yes. She shared the apartment with Taiki, Yaten and me for a few months... Then she discovered this apartment and suggested that we should move here..."

"...and that the four of you share this apartment," you scrutinize the four antique coat hooks in his corridor from afar. The four coat hooks suddenly seem to carry a deeper meaning to you now that you consider the difference in height at which they have been fastened on the wall.

"No, it was only me and her. She was living with me here while Yaten and Taiki were sharing the apartment above us. Of course they still often came down since we four always cooked and ate together." He gazes at you with troubled eyes. "I loved her in a purely emotional way, which was probably too little for her since our relationship didn't go anywhere. Things became increasingly more awkward between us... Before one of our last concerts as Three Lights, she got into an accident and fell into a coma."

Taken aback by the implication and the sudden break in his voice, you wonder whether Kakyuu had made a scene when she noticed that he had fallen in love with another girl. Judging from the time span it has lasted, his feelings for Odango seem to have been more serious than his feelings for Kakyuu, which were probably protectiveness and admiration he had mistaken for love.

You can hazily imagine the scenes of his life before his path crossed yours: the empty apartment after Kakyuu's accident; the mob of angry fans protesting against Three Lights' band break-up; Odango's wedding and their meetings at Ueno-koen after her marriage; his unmovable figure at the hospital bed of the comatose woman he once loved, pondering whether he should or should not pull the plug to her life support system...

Kakyuu died in her coma two years ago, he continues. Taiki dealt with her death by starting to write morbid poems while Yaten became an even more antisocial person than he already was. He himself was the only one of them who continued his life unscathed after a phase of mourning.

"A friend told me once that I'm the most resilient person on earth," he says, his voice cool and slightly ironic.

"It's something you should be proud of," you furrow your brows in concentration, pretending to occupy yourself with a particularly outrageous fan letter. "Whenever someone close to me died, it was hard for me to continue living. I always wished I had been the one who died so that I wouldn't have to deal with it." Ripping the shameless love letter apart with the air of a possessive long-time girlfriend, you add: "If that situation ever happens again, I don't think I will be able to bear it."

"That situation is hard to avoid," he calmly helps you collect the paper scraps. "It's seldom that two people who love each other pass away at the same time under normal circumstances. Unless you distance yourself from all the people you love, some day you will have to deal with the death of a loved one or vice versa."

"The 'vice versa' is exactly what I want," you let a red-and-black striped box (whose contents were short dyed-blonde curls and a photo with the capture "You can have me at any time!") fall into the trash bag. "I want to be the one who passes away first, as selfish as it sounds."

"Really?" He smiles at you across the pile of unread letters he has placed between you and himself. "I'd liked to be the last person left so that no one will have to mourn for me."

g.


	28. Death, so commonplace

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

g.

FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

g.

**Death, so commonplace...**

Death, so commonplace and inevitable, was at the same time so surreal and inconceivable that fifteen-year-old Sherry had no real interest in pondering the matter. Naturally, the thought often occurred to her that her sister and Gin were most likely to pass away before her and that she would sooner or later have to mourn their deaths. But thinking of death as an abstract entity differs significantly from seeing it with one's own eyes — and Sherry only associated death with carcasses of lab rats, fading photos of strangers she called parents, anonymous faces on the Organization's annual reports of collateral damage, and a dark ghost story about a secret love until she witnessed the "death" of the red-haired woman.

Before Gin told her that the young woman had survived, Sherry had automatically assumed that she had died. In the two months following the stranger's "death", unprecedented emotions began to stir inside Sherry — sentiments whose profound impact on her she never fully grasped because she considered them too irrational and unsettling to dwell on. Unwelcome and unacknowledged, they were soon forgotten after she learned that the girl was still alive. Nevertheless, when two years later she was given the task to investigate Kudo Shinichi's disappearance and discovered that the detective had been shrunk by her drug, Sherry found herself facing a dilemma she might never have had if she had never met the red-haired girl.

In fact, choosing her own safety over Kudo Shinichi's life should have been easy enough. Being familiar with the ways of the Organization, she knew perfectly well that the penalty for treason was either torture or/and death depending on the gravity of the offence. Moreover, Kudo Shinichi was a stranger she had only seen on the news and never met, a law-abiding and unduly zealous private investigator who would have no qualms about escorting her in handcuffs to the police station if he knew whom she was working for. On top of that, saving a famous sleuth like him also meant taking responsibility for the difficulties which would undoubtedly arise if he continued to snoop around. In short, there was no reason why she out of all people should risk her life to save his, she concluded and inwardly groaned at her own idiocy when five seconds afterwards she did exactly the opposite from what she considered sensible by declaring him dead in her report.

g.

Your fatal tendency to rebel against common sense from time to time (an innate antipathy against a sheltered life?) becomes apparent in situations like the one you are trying to assess now. If Kudo were here, he would warn you that your growing attachment to this stranger spells trouble because a serious relationship with such a person is doomed to failure right from the start. Instead of a reliable man who can give you a feeling of security and peace — the only halfway viable alternative to a perfectly independent life devoid of the emotional turmoil love always brings — you had to crush on a rebellious idol with a disturbing sister complex, the reputation for being disgracefully promiscuous and the ability to lie fluently without batting an eyelid...

"We should really put them aside for now," the accomplished liar yawns, leaning against the wall behind him with a pained expression. "Why do you want to read all of them to me?"

"Don't be such a snob! This one is really good, I think. She even wrote you a poem:

_'Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks_

_Within his bending sickle's compass come:_

_Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_

_But bears it out even to the edge of doom.'_

She wants to love you until she dies — you should really accept her love."

"I'm touched! But she copied everything from Shakespeare. I'm sure it's from one of his love sonnets. Taiki could even tell you from which one."

"At least her letter meets a certain intellectual standard unlike most of your other fan letters. And I remember you quoted Shakespeare as well when you asked me out tonight." Undisturbed by his impatience, you proceed to the postscript on the other side of the card. "I see it's not addressed to you but to Taiki-san: 'Taiki-sama, please give me a chance. I love you more than I can say. Eternally yours, Misa...'"

"Taiki must have got the letters mixed up when he brought them here. I should have known it. My fans seldom write poems for me."

"Maybe they don't expect a guy like you to understand love sonnets?"

"Now I know what you really think about my mental capacity."

Oddly enough, you feel perfectly at ease with him as you are growing accustomed to his presence, secretly enjoying his nearness and revelling in the sense of beauty and even in the conflicting emotions the last hours have stirred inside you. Trying to dispel the treacherous sense of belonging which has caught you unawares, you mentally compile a list of good reasons why this will never work out in the long run: First, two freedom-loving people with a deep-rooted fear of long-time commitment like he and you are most likely to part after the first exhilarating spell of infatuation wears off. Second, a serious relationship or a marriage is quite impracticable as you are thoroughly sick of the downward spiral which always manifests itself whenever love turns sour while he has told you in no uncertain terms that he is not at all interested in being tied down by "tiresome obligations and paperwork." Apart from that, you can't read his real intentions at all due to his evasiveness and his casual flirting, not to mention the fact that you two don't have much in common and are drawn to each other for somewhat obscure reasons.

On another day, you would have listened to the voice of conventional wisdom and immediately retreated. But the sunset last night seems to have awoken a hidden side of yours which has lain dormant since Pandora's Box — a willful personality bent on throwing caution to the winds to get whatever she has set her heart on.

"Which ex-boyfriend of yours are you thinking of at the moment?" the stranger contemplates you with a quizzical look.

"Why don't you use your mind-reading skills and try to guess it?"

"My mind-reading skills only tell me that it's an ex-boyfriend again, a particularly pleasant one, according to your smile."

"I haven't been thinking of any ex-boyfriend. I've been trying to lay down the quality standards I want my future house husband to meet, wondering whether there is a man on earth who can satisfy the basic requirements because I'm tired of doing all my housework alone."

"I can meet any requirements," he promptly asserts, "and the few things I can't do I can always learn."

"You mean you're applying for the job?" you shoot him an intentionally calculating glance. Unfortunately, your solemn tone of voice sounds not exaggerated enough even in your own ears; and in a sudden bout of self-consciousness, you worry that he might miss the subtlety and might mistake your joke for a rash proposal.

He laughs as he has apparently taken notice of the nuance, carelessly opening another letter with his long graceful fingers while keeping his eyes fixed on you.

"Well, I _have_ been applying for it for quite a while by now, haven't I?"

Conscious of taking pleasure in watching his hands ripping up the envelope and handling the paper with practised gentleness, you turn away from him in a flash of unprovoked anger.

"You were only so bold because you expected me to pass up your offer. And your offer was a fake marriage, if I remember correctly."

He eagerly leans towards you with a shade of amazement in his eyes.

"Would you have considered marrying me for real if I had seriously proposed?" he asks.

"You will never know it because you won't ever dare to."

"I hereby apply in all seriousness for the position of your future husband," he declares. Despite his humorous choice of words, the expression on his face is perfectly sincere.

"Unfortunately, you lack the requisite qualifications," you gravely reply, illustrating your decision with a dismissive wave.

"And what exactly do I lack?" He looks almost disappointed.

"Housekeeping skills. Apart from that, I don't want to be assassinated by your crazy fans on the day of our wedding." To demonstrate your point, you randomly pick a card and read aloud: "'Thank you so much for the awesome night. What about staying in Venice for a whole season? Love you to bits. Mina—" You abruptly stop and hand him the card in embarrassment. "Sorry, I thought it was only a fan letter like the others."

"Minako-chan is one of Odango's best friends," he casually explains as if spending a night with the friend of his unrequited love was common courtesy.

"So the rumours about you and Aino Minako are true?" you gloomily ask.

"No, 'the awesome night' in Venice was harmless," he quickly denies. "I only gave Minako-chan a private singing lesson she liked so much that she insisted I stay in Venice until she didn't need me anymore."

"And? Why didn't you stay? She seems to like you a lot."

"Oh, she likes everyone," he grins before continuing on a more serious note: "There has never been anything between us. Venice was a nice place, though. I once liked it so much that I considered buying an apartment from Michiru-sama to spend my free weekends there..."

However, Venice turned out not to be as enjoyable as he thought, he admitted, especially when one is single and stumbles over couples kissing in public all the time, continually reminding one of what one misses out in one's own life.

"And?" you narrow your eyes to scrutinize his infuriatingly innocent face. "Is it the truth this time? Or is it just one of your lies?" Meanwhile, the suspicion that he might be not only a fan but also a close friend of "Michiru-sama" and, in consequence, might know Tenoh-san personally begins to gnaw at the back of your mind.

"Why are you always so mistrustful?" he asks, accidentally throwing Aino Minako's card into the trash bag.

"Because prudence is a virtue and because I absolutely can't make you out." For a moment, you consider leaving the card in the trash bag before you grudgingly fish it out for him and put it on the table.

"I'm flattered," he joyfully responds. "But I think you're making a virtue of cowardice."

"Cowardice is actually a virtue in the face of challenges too daunting to deal with. But now that you've told me about your first girlfriend, you can tell me about all the others as well. Was Odango one of your affairs, or was it really only a platonic friendship?"

"I already told you I've never had a girlfriend—"

"—And you've been lying! Now that I know you've been lying at me about your childhood girlfriend, I wonder what else you've been lying about."

"I told you Kakyuu wasn't my girlfriend in the traditional sense of the word," he emphatically asserts. "She was my foster sister!"

"Did she consider you her boyfriend?"

"I don't think so. She always introduced me as her foster brother. I know it sounds absurd to you but it was perfectly normal to us."

He claimed the only time he kissed someone in a romantic context was when he gave up Odango, you remind him. Naturally, you came to the inescapable conclusion that he had lied to you when you learned that he had kissed Kakyuu as well.

Those kisses weren't in the least romantic, he protests. He casually pecked Kakyuu as a greeting just like he used to kiss his foster mother. Before he met Odango, he was blissfully clueless and never even dreamt of romantically kissing anyone.

"That's not kissing for me."

"Alright," he sighs. "Then, according to your definition of kissing, I didn't kiss her at all."

"You also said puppy loves were boring. But your sister-complex was infinitely worse." You throw him a perplexed look. "Why did you think you were in love with Kakyuu if you didn't even want to to kiss her?"

Because he wanted to spend his life with her and protect her forever. For him, she was the personification of kindness itself, he casts a fleeting glance at your lips. "Kissing her would have seemed like sacrilege. If I had wanted to kiss her, sharing her with Yaten and Taiki would have been torture."

"In that case, I don't think what you felt for her was love in the traditional sense of the word. It must have been idolatry, admiration, whatever. Love is completely different."

But what is love, you suddenly wonder. Is love an intense attraction which leads to an enduring attachment, or it is the wish to protect the person you care for from harm? You can talk condescendingly about all the manifestations of love that don't seem right in your perception of the world, but who are you to assume that you know the right ingredients for the elusive thing called love everybody talks about with the general consensus that the thing which means love for one person also means love for another?

"Everybody has their own idea of love," he reflects as if he has read your thoughts. "It's hard to avoid misunderstandings, which is why it always amazes me how well people in love get along—"

"—But they usually don't get along with each other. They sometimes even kill each other over the pettiest quarrels. That's why I don't believe in long-time relationships."

"You mean you don't only oppose to marriage in general... You don't even want a long-time relationship?" he looks at you aghast.

"That doesn't have anything to do with what I want," you sigh. "I'm only trying to listen to common sense and not to expect too much from life, that's all."

"Leaving common sense aside, what do you really want?" he asks, his smile and his low voice unmistakably seductive.

"Someone who does my housework without bailing at the first opportunity," you wisely omit to mention the tantalizing prospect of kissing him because you know it would only complicate matters.

"What about moving in with me?" he suggests. In answer to your inquiring gaze, he continues persuasively: "I really don't mind doing all our housework."

You turn to him in bewilderment. In a situation like this one, language proves to be maddeningly ambiguous. What exactly does he want the two of you to be? Is he only joking or does he really mean to move in with you although you two have just met? Just like you, he seems to have difficulty saying the famous words and to initiate the one gesture which would have clearly defined your relationship. Unable to guess the reason behind his odd shyness which doesn't match his intrepid manner, you contemplate him in silence, wondering who is hiding behind that arresting mask which has inspired so many love letters without being moved by any.

"Just take your time to think about it." Propped on his elbows behind his back, he turns his face towards the window and wistfully observes: "Have you noticed the sun has been behaving strangely since we met? It didn't want to set last night. And now it doesn't want to rise at all."

"It's very much like you and doesn't know what it wants."

His eyes light up with a humorous glint.

"I know exactly what I want. The one who can't make up her mind is you."

"Say, when you told me you've already broken a promise tonight, what did you actually mean?" you venture, fearing that — unconventional as he is — his definition of love is to hold hands and hug and dance together while sharing an apartment, which isn't quite what you have imagined but would still be pleasant enough for the time being.

He doesn't answer but only stares at you in speechless incredulity as if you had asked him whether he had twenty arms and twenty legs.

"You are the slowest woman I've ever met," he groans at last, shaking his head. "Kudo and you are a match made in heaven."

g.

All in all, the fan letters were at best boring (_"We love you so much please return to the stage at once!"_) and at worst outright abusive and threatening (_"If you don't come back I swear I'll sabotage your brothers' concerts!")..._ There were a few explicit proposals (_"I'll be waiting for you at seven p.m. at ..." _— the place of the rendezvous is always a restaurant, a love hotel or even a private address) just as rather weird gifts like used lip balms, hair, full-body photos and laced lingerie. However, among all the atrocities the stranger and you have also found beautiful little tokens of love: self-made pralines and chocolate cakes, teddy keychains and lucky charms, surprisingly candid sounding love declarations and rare flower seeds, exquisite watercolour drawings and love jewellery.

"You'd have thrown away all these things?" you ask, beholding a small locket pendant. Kudo once accidentally gave you a love necklace without knowing what it was, and you can still recall the agony when it slipped out of your hand and was immediately swallowed by the waves below.

"Why, non of them were in red or black wrapping papers or had an obnoxious red heart on them, weren't they?" the stranger points out as he returns to your side after depositing the trash bag on the kitchen floor. Holding out his hand towards you, he smiles: "Now we have enough space."

"Wait, I'd like to have a look at all the things you're going to keep," you turn away from him, careful not to show your mild but rising panic.

"Just admit that you're stalling for time because you're afraid of our dance," he chuckles.

"Alright. I admit I'm not looking forward to making a fool of myself since I don't remember anything from my dance classes anymore—" You pause in surprise when you notice his eyes wandering down to your legs with unconcealed interest.

"Your bullet wounds, how did you get them?" he indicates the small round scar directly underneath the hem of your bathrobe.

Not in the least disturbed by his tendency to awaken your memories of both Kudo and Gin — the two romantic disasters in your life — you shrug away the stab of pain you still feel at the memory.

"Just a display of affection from my first boyfriend and then from his imbecile subordinate during our 'reunions'. They were only flesh wounds, though, nothing serious. I told you he had a macabre sense of humour."

"Since you always talk about him in the past tense, I gather he is dead?"

"Yes, and I doubt that anyone grieved over his death because he wasn't a particularly pleasant person."

"And how did he die?" he leads you by your arm to the sofa. "Slowly and painfully, I hope."

Taken aback by his question, you hesitate for a moment, choosing your words with caution. No, you don't think your first ex-boyfriend had to suffer very much because he always had an incredibly high tolerance to pain, you tell the stranger as you two settle on the sofa and he places a cushion behind your back in a quaint gesture of chivalrousness. The heartless jerk bled to death because the idiot who shot him managed to miss all the vital organs. But for all that, you are sure your first ex didn't feel much but a sense of frustration at the prospect of leaving this world without being able to take all his enemies with him...

_"Say, Haibara, back at Infinity... Were you one of Stinger's guinea-pig prodigies?"_ Kudo had asked, trying to distract you from feelings he thought to be shock and guilt... Three years after the incident, it strikes you as ironic how Kudo told you over and over again that it was self-defense, emphasizing that your "well-aimed" bullets weren't the only reason for your ex-boyfriend's inglorious ending. All the while, you couldn't help wishing that you could turn back time and fire the two bullets again because there wouldn't have been a reason to cry if your hand hadn't shaken and you hadn't missed! If you hadn't only wounded Gin but killed him at once, things would have ended differently back at Pandora's Box, and last night you would have been sleeping peacefully in Kudo's arms...

It is useless to dwell on bygone days of the dim and distant past, you chide yourself, pushing away the time-worn thoughts which have taken the characteristics of troublesome old acquaintances one has grown heartily tired of seeing. The thought of spending a night in Kudo's arms has completely lost its appeal to you after three years of complete stalemate and continuous divergence. But every so often, you would be assailed by unwanted memories of Edogawa and Haibara walking together and the kiss you had been craving for but didn't get. And with a pang of regret, you would linger over theories of what might have happened if Gin hadn't activated Pandora's Box or if Tenoh-san had managed to come to your assistance, indulging in fantasies about all the unattainable things which might have been...

"And you met Kudo like that?" the stranger casually steers the conversation from your first ex-boyfriend to the second as he fills your coffee cup. "During a case in which you were the victim?"

Skipping all the details of your escape — a feat which you can't explain without touching on APTX4869 and which always sounds more impressive in narration than it was in real life — you answer in the affirmative, reluctantly leaving him with the assumption that your encounter with Kudo has induced you to walk out on your abusive first love and to betray the Organization.

From the expression in his eyes, you can tell he is silently meditating questions as to how you escaped the Organization's clutches. But in view of your obvious reticence, he holds them back after a moment of careful consideration.

"I met Kudo during one of his cases as well," he tells you with audible detachment in his voice. "But I wasn't the victim — I was one of his suspects."

"Really?" you cautiously respond, waiting for him to expand on the subject.

"And? Are you afraid of me now?" Intrigued by your nonchalant reaction, he gives you a faintly mischievous smile, studying your face with his probing eyes.

Not in the least, you truthfully reply, dithering over the question whether you should pretend to know nothing about the case or admit to him that you've already learnt about it from Kudo. Even if he had been the culprit, you elaborate, you wouldn't feel the slightest fear of him because you are sure Kudo would have put him behind bars if he had considered him dangerous.

"Ah, so you trust Kudo and not me." His voice is playfully sad.

"Of course, why should I trust _you_?" you give him a teasing smirk. "If anyone can be called a modern Sherlock Holmes, that person would be him. I don't believe in many things, but I trust his judgment and his deduction skills implicitly."

For an instant, you can discern in his eyes the wish to turn back time to the moment before he impetuously decided to tell you about the case. But then his gaze softens again and he leans back, regarding you with a resigned smile.

"Well, it seems even your Sherlock can fail because he didn't solve that case, as far as I can tell."

"Now you've made me curious."

"Maybe some day I'll tell you if you don't pester me about it tonight," he mimics you with an air of finality. Evidently, you have just squandered your chance of hearing the whole story from his point of view by telling him about your unshakable trust in Kudo, and now he might never confide to you why he ushered Kudo out of his apartment without as much as an attempt to justify his actions.

But was he really the culprit, you wonder, or has he just tried to tell you that Kudo's deduction was wrong? Once again you've jumped to conclusions when you automatically assumed that he was Kudo's culprit only because he matched the description given by Kudo even though you've never met Yaten and Taiki who are living in the same house. Additionally, it does seem odd to you that he had refused to admit a crime like the one Kudo described if he had really been the culprit because it would have been more in-character for him to come clean about it so that he could finally let go.

If the stranger is really the man Kudo told you about, you can't come up with a plausible reason why he didn't deny the charge if he had been innocent. On the other hand, you doubt Kudo was talking about Yaten or Taiki, who are sharing an apartment, because Kudo's narration gave you the impression that the culprit was living alone. Didn't Kudo himself tell you that something about his deduction wasn't right and that he had only given up the case for lack of time and conclusive evidence? Kudo would certainly appreciate it if you present him the answer to the little mystery as a goodbye gift. However, no sooner did you decide to play detective than you realize you had better leave it, as digging too deeply into Kakyuu's death and spilling all the details to the same investigator whom he (or one of his foster brothers?) had denied an explanation would also mean to betray the stranger. To know or not to know, is it really important? You two have resolved to distract each other from unhappy memories by making pleasant ones, not to open old wounds out of idle curiosity.

"It seems you have much more to hide than I thought," you can't help saying.

He visibly reddens, looking guilty out of a sudden.

"I admit I've held back one or two things," he laughs. "But I'd dare say the one who has much more to hide is you."

"Well, unlike you, I've never claimed to be an open book. If I were a book, I'd be a personal diary, locked."

He smiles at you across your coffee cups.

"Is there a key to the lock? If there isn't, I will refine my mind-reading skills and try to guess all your thoughts on my own."

"Well then, good luck with that," you gaily consent.

"I'm actually getting better at guessing," he fastidiously places his cup on the table before turning to you with an air of determination. "Do you mind if I show you?"

"No, go ahead," you smile at him in amusement.

"The car crash in slow motion you talked about... Was it your relationship with Gin?"

Taken by surprise, you wonder for a moment whether you should answer his question in the affirmative or not before the realization hits you that his knowledge about your "car crash in slow motion" can't only have been a wild guess because you have not even once mentioned Gin's code name to him. Most probably, he has already known about Sherry and Gin before last night (he himself said that Stinger had "talked about cocktails as if they had a life") and put two and two together at some point of your conversation.

"Professor Tomoe told you about me," you state soberly. The lunatic apparently knew more about Gin and you than you suspected.

"After we met, I asked Tomoe why you were the only student who didn't wear Infinity's uniform. He told me that you were a scientist and 'Gin's protégé' and that I'd be asking for trouble if I didn't leave you alone. But he didn't tell me how you were called. I actually guessed it on my own..." He pauses for effect.

"Sherry was your cocktail code name, right?" he flashes you a victorious smile. "That's why you reacted to it when I told you about my favourite wine on the way to Two Lights'."

"Don't be so smug about it," you roll your eyes. "You needed hours to figure it out while Kudo would have deduced it in an instant. Moriarty doesn't match you in the least. Akane-san should have cast you as Watson."

"It's not fair of you to compare my deduction skills to Kudo's," he frowns. "I bet I win when it comes to singing or acting skills... But why are you laughing?"

"I'd rather not elaborate. I only remembered I actually like Kudo's singing, as bad as it is."

You have almost forgotten how much you liked Kudo's voice, its huskiness and even its sharp edge which, set against its subdued warmth, always faintly intrigued you.

"Well, I know more about you than I thought," he continues, giving you the same enigmatic smile you saw on his face when he ushered you into his dining room. "Or at least I know a lot about Sherry and Haibara Ai..."

"Haibara Ai," you echo in disbelief. You have always suspected that Stinger knew more about APTX4869 than he should, but you would never have guessed that he was also informed about Haibara Ai. The only person at Infinity who knew was Tenoh-san who would never have spilled it to the mad professor because she knew he suffered from random laughing fits during which he was dangerously talkative.

"Haruka-san told me," the stranger explains. "I needed a while to make the connection because I didn't expect a girl like you to do such kind of research. Haruka-san's use of suffixes is at times misleading, and I automatically assumed that Sherry was at least ten years older than us. But when you said you had given Kudo a good reason to take back his proposal, I remembered Pandora's Box and thought maybe you were Sherry, the scientist who was shrunk by her own drug and who tricked both Haruka-san and him."

"I'm as old as the hills when it comes to my mental age," you quip in an attempt to recover from your shock. Small details aside (for example the fact that you already took the antidote before Pandora's Box or the fact that you didn't plan to trick either Kudo or Tenoh-san but only improvised), he knows too much about the story to be only one of Tenoh-san's casual acquaintances. Tenoh-san doesn't belong to the loquacious type of people who would tell a friend about dangerous projects which don't concern them. Also, she has a deeply ingrained mistrust against men.

"That's a great asset in life, isn't it? Luckily, your drug didn't affect your mental age at all," he grins. "You were the one who continued Hell Angel's research and developed APTX4869, right?" The question is purely rhetorical. "Haruka-san always called it the Silver Bullet."

"You're one of Tenoh-san's 'close friends'?" you ask, trying to see him with pre-infatuated eyes.

"Friendship" isn't the right term for that, he replies, as "Haruka-san" hates him for unknown reasons. But since they share the same group of friends, they are desperately trying to get along. They also like each other's music and sometimes manage to work together without either of them being killed, which is no mean feat for both of them owing to Haruka-san's bad temper.

"It makes sense for Tenoh-san to hate you if you really flirted with her precious girlfriend. When it came to Kaioh-san, she was always extremely jealous." You draw a deep breath and empty your espresso in one gulp before placing the cup on the table. "So it was Tenoh-san who told you about me?" You give a mirthless laugh. "What did she say? Nothing pleasant, I suppose."

"Nothing disturbing, actually," he smiles. "She said Sherry was one of the nicest girls she had ever met although she usually didn't like bad-tempered redheads."

You blink at him in confusion and flush with anger when you spot the mocking glimmer in his eyes.

"You're taking me for a ride!"

He chuckles, beaming at you with visible enjoyment.

"You seemed somewhat nervous," he shrugs.

As you already feared, he knows all about your role in the Black Organization just as he knows about your connection to "Haruka-san's" radical group. However, he doesn't show the slightest sign of horror, disgust or loathing. He will not shrink away from your hand or call you a traitor or a murderess. For him, you are only a normal, nice reddish-haired woman...

With a lingering glow of pleasure in his eyes, he readjusts his position on the sofa and then draws you into his arms, places your head on his lap and supports your back with a cushion. "If you think Haruka-san is mad at you, you're dead wrong. When we talked, I had the impression she admired you somewhat for having the guts to use her and to ruin all her plans."

"If she really thought that, she never told me," you comfortably settle into his embrace, stretch out your legs and bury your face into his soft cardigan. Even through the thick fabric of the bathrobe, you are acutely aware of his fingers caressing your arm in hypnotically slow movements, hesitantly brushing against the back of your hand like an unspoken question.

For an eternity, you two lie there together in complete silence, watching the fine mist of rain outside as it comes down soundlessly. In the deep stillness of dawn, the air is throbbing with warmth, enveloping the two of you like an invisible blanket of universal affection...

_"You and I, we can be partners," _Kudo had sleepily said, pulling the blanket over both of you. _"We can solve cases and live together for a whole lifetime. When this is over, I want to live without regrets and do whatever I think is right. I've been thinking a lot about us in the past three weeks... I want you to stay with me for life."_

All at once, a pang of sorrow shoots through you at the thought that this is disturbingly reminiscent of Pandora's Box, added to the certainty that something is surreal about yesterday's sunset, about the sudden intimacy between strangers and the irregular flow of time. Logically, you can't explain why you fear that this won't last for longer than a night, or why you can't forget the story of the apparition which appears at sunset and wanders on earth for only twenty-four hours, disappearing forever as the second dusk falls.

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	29. Just like three years ago

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**Just like three years ago...**

Just like three years ago, the situation does not culminate in a kiss as it would undoubtedly have if it hadn't been for a minor disturbance. Startled by the sudden ringing of his mobile phone, you abruptly draw away from him in the same way as you hurriedly slipped out of Kudo arms at Pandora's Box when you heard Hattori's steps in front of the door to the cabin. The parallel between the two situations throws you for a moment off balance, and with the peculiar feeling of waking up from a long deep sleep, you suddenly wonder how you could let yourself get carried away like that by a complete stranger.

"Your phone," you explain when you notice his wondering gaze. Simultaneously, you realize that his ringtone is a quote from the song you heard in the café where you encountered the red-haired girl. Hearing it when Odango called him must have triggered the old memory and caused you to dream of the girl again when you fell asleep on the bench...

"Is there something wrong?" he asks, holding you back by your hand when you get up from the sofa. The little gesture lightens your mood more than you would have expected. Half-annoyed and half-amused at yourself, you realize you have even begun to find his toing and froing between exasperating shyness and outrageous boldness endearing.

"I'll tell you after you've answered it."

Throwing you perplexed glance, he lets go of you and swiftly walks in the direction of the bathroom where his jacket is still hanging. At the door, however, he turns on his heel, returns with a smile, takes your elbow and decisively pulls you with him.

"Too late," he points out the obvious while fishing in his jacket pocket for his mobile phone with his free hand. The washing machine (or, to be precise, the combined washer dryer) has finished washing your clothes for some time as well, as evidenced by the blinking zero on the display. However, the machine hasn't even started to dry your clothes yet.

"Only because it took you forever to answer the call," you remark. "Were you afraid I would go home in your bathrobe?"

"Yes, my mind-reading skills told me you wanted to flee and shift the blame onto me afterwards," he grins before continuing on a more serious note: "You did consider it for a moment, didn't you?"

"I absolutely don't know what you mean," you unscrupulously deny, whereupon he only glares at you, resigned. Without a kiss, you still have the chance to pretend that nothing has ever crossed your mind, that all the things happening between you two in the past hours have been only part of a harmless flirt, and that you've never, ever, even considered kissing him.

It would be somewhat hypocritical but the smartest way to get yourself out of this flirt-gone-too-well without leaving a mess, you reflect. The only catch of this solution is that you don't feel like listening to the tedious voice of reason at all. Beyond doubt, one of the most disturbing things about the first delirious stage of love is the fact that it invariably kills the last ounce of common sense, you realize, shuddering at all the sappy thoughts which crossed your mind when you were lying on his lap a few minutes ago. A blanket of universal affection? The air throbbing with warmth? You were obviously mistaken when you believed you had finally overcome your sappy side after your quarrel with Kudo. If you were writing your memoirs now, in your present mental condition, this episode of your story would be classified as a mushy romance! Admittedly, an overdose of sentimentality can be excused in your situation as the lack of sleep and a series of strange coincidences — added to the shock at the accident you witnessed yesterday evening — have joined forces to loosen a few screws in your head. This feeling of déjà vu, however, is simply absurd since the situation with Kudo then and the situation with stranger-san now don't have much in common...

Pandora's Box, as you remember it, was in essence the type of dilemma one wants to read about but not to experience. This situation, on the other hand, is in comparison completely harmless although it feels oddly similar. The thing you have rashly and imprudently labeled "love" is probably only a physical attraction or romantic illusion supported by a few very lucky coincidences. How could you get the idea that you are in love with him if you don't know anything about him but his name and the reputation inextricably linked to it? As much as you would like to trust your feelings because this feels perfectly right, you know from past experiences with Gin that emotions are essentially unreliable.

"What are you thinking?" he asks with audible apprehension in his voice, slightly loosening his grip on your arm as if he can guess the direction your thoughts are taking.

"Nothing," you lie, faking interest in his old washer dryer combo which, with its blinking zero, has brought an element of the mundane back into your unreasonable instant romance. "I've only noticed you've forgotten to turn on the dryer. What about turning it on now so that I don't need to spend the whole day in your bathrobe?" Deciding that you might as well turn it on yourself because it doesn't contain only his but also your clothes, you quickly choose the delicate setting.

"Sorry, it seems I was too distracted back then—"

"Just erase that memory from your mind and don't ever dare to mention it again," you darkly cut him off in the middle of the sentence. "May I ask who has called you at such an ungodly hour as six in the morning?"

To your annoyance, you can feel yourself getting possessive although you two are only at the hands-holding stage. If the call was from a female acquaintance trying to lure him to Venice or somewhere else for another "awesome night," you will friend-zone the little lying cheat and deny all feelings of attraction just to put a damper on his disproportionately big ego.

"It was Yaten," he informs you. "But since he hasn't left a message, I bet he is mad at me for leaving Taiki and him alone at Two Lights'."

Apparently, his oldest brother has already tried to reach him twice without either of you two hearing it due to the sound of the washing machine and the hair dryer. Furthermore, the sound of his mobile phone doesn't seem to carry far and the door of the bathroom was closed.

"What about calling him back now before he calls again?" you suggest in slight irritation. You've always hated the tendency of mobile phones to ring at the wrong moment.

"Good idea," he agrees. "Although, knowing him, I fear he has already turned off his phone or thrown it away in an angry fit."

"He sounds like the nastier of your two brothers."

"Only if he is in a bad mood, but then he is absolutely insufferable."

Giving your arm he is still holding a little reassuring squeeze, he flashes you a fleeting smile and you smile back, relieved that things have returned to normalcy. It is difficult to explain why your mood continually alternates between euphoria and despondency, and nothing can account for these sudden spells of irritation and anxiety which have been troubling you since yesterday night. In the corridor, the large bouquets of red roses the two of you left on the floor are shimmering mysteriously in the dim light. Distractedly noting that the apartment above this one must be overflowed with the white and yellow roses Taiki and Yaten Kou must have received from their fans in abundance, it strikes you that you have never given much thought to the colours of the flowers of the red-haired girl.

Most probably, her boyfriend had surprised her with tickets for a Three Lights concert, which would explain why he didn't bother to wear a formal suit while implying that the evening would be special to make her put on something fancy. You can imagine him telling her about the plans for the evening while racing through the crowded streets, throwing one or two worried glances through the rear-view mirror at the midnight-blue car that had been following them to the flower shop where she insisted to buy three roses for Taiki, Yaten and Seiya...

The sheer thought of the stranger's name disturbs you for a peculiar reason, as if giving him a name would either erect a barrier between him and you or ultimately change the nature of your nebulous relationship. For a few hours, it had seemed perfectly natural to talk with him about his and your private life and to ponder the question of whether to kiss or not to kiss while ignoring the other aspects of his life you wouldn't ever want to be a part of: the press, the paparazzi and the reporters, the celebrity friends, the female admirers and the obsessive fans who would callously disclose any little detail from your past they can dig up to the public if they knew about you. Now that you have sobered up a bit, you remember you've hated publicity, parties, celebrity talks and the whole narcissistic film business in general ever since Vermouth discovered the pseudo-marriage Gin and you tried out after Professor Tomoe burnt down Infinity and gave up his prodigy project. No matter from what angle you look at it, getting romantically entangled with a person like dear stranger-san is not a very good idea to start with...

"I hope all your clothes can be tumble dried," he remarks while waiting for his brother to answer the call. "Your dress looked pretty flimsy to me. Shall I take it out and dry it on a hanger?"

"Actually, my dress shouldn't be tumble dried. But since I can't go home in your clothes, there is no other option."

"You could simply stay here," he suggests with a perfectly straight face. "I'll even pack your luggage for you if you move in with me."

"No, thanks," you respond with the same fake seriousness. "Your housekeeping skills still needs further improvement. As we've just seen, I can't even trust you with a tumble dryer."

Since he is confident of his learning skills, he will interpret your "No" as a "Not yet," he declares before turning his attention to Yaten Kou's answering machine. Something unexpected has prevented him from returning to Two Lights', he says. But if they can hold on until the rehearsal instead of barging in on him during the next few hours, he is going to tell them everything in detail.

"The short version is that I've found the ideal woman to take care of my paperwork," he chuckles. "But even though I've been trying to seduce her all night, she is continually eluding me."

Irked by his apparent compulsion to share all the details of his love life with his family and friends, you are about to shoot him a withering glare when you realize that, before leaving the message, he has already ended the call.

"That's what you've been thinking, right?" he frankly asks. "That I've planned this all along."

"Your innocence is bordering on stupidity sometimes," you roll your eyes.

"What have you been thinking then?" he asks in surprise. "Why did you flee from me out of a sudden?"

Did you really flee from him as he claims? Or were you only hyper-reflexive and paranoid as you always are whenever you are reminded of Pandora's Box and the downfall of the Organization?

"When things are going too well, I'm sure that it won't last," you tell him to your own surprise, stepping out of the bathroom into the corridor.

"It never lasts," he gravely agrees, stops and knees down to fish for a pair of slippers under the bench next to the umbrella stand with the parasol. "Good moments always seem to pass much faster than bad moments do."

"It's interesting how you can promise a woman lasting commitment one moment and claim that love is ephemeral the next," you coolly remark.

No, that's not at all what he meant since he only said that good moments will always pass, not that one can't simply make new good memories with the same person, he protests, looking up at you with an expression of disbelief. You surely have the most destructive mind. How did you manage to live for so many years with it?

"So many years? I'm twenty-three," you darkly point out. "Younger than you, actually."

"It doesn't matter since you sound like half a century—" he impertinently quips and winces in pain when you spontaneously kick him in the ribs.

"I think I can get used to that," he tells you after a moment of silent contemplation. Placing the shoes in front of you, he cheekily asks: "What about going out on the balcony for a few minutes? Maybe I can cheer you up in another setting."

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**"You know, I'm sure someday..."**

"You know, I'm sure someday I'll be thoroughly sick of your childish pranks," you tell him later when you are standing on his balcony, letting your eyes roam over the part of Azabu Juuban where you live. Kudo must still be sleeping because he would have noticed that your mobile phone is gone and would have given you a call after waking up. For a moment, you wonder whether you would be able to see him clearly if he were standing on your balcony.

"I know," the stranger agrees. "Taiki and Yaten are already thoroughly sick of them."

"I'm sure you will hate me with time as well. I'm controlling, destructive and perfectionist to the core. I'm going to nag at you every day about the smallest things."

"Alright," he replies with a smile, carelessly leaning against the wet balustrade. "I'm going to deal with it somehow."

"Due to my upbringing in the Organization, I also have a hidden violent streak," you continue with growing enjoyment. "I'm going to kick you, hit you, and rip your pretty earring off whenever I feel like it."

"Since I'm a closet masochist, I'm looking forward to it," he beams.

"It seems thinking is not your forte, isn't it?"

"Nobody's perfect," he smirks. "No normal man with the sufficient amount of brain cells would let you abuse him as much as me."

On the surface, neither of you is taking this half-hearted "Some Like It Hot" parody seriously. But to you, this moment feels like the turning point. Standing under the roof while the wind is blowing the fine rain past you so that it barely grazes your face before landing on the balustrade, you feel like laughing because all of your oh-so-sound objections to this beginning relationship suddenly seem forced and wholly immaterial. Perhaps the real problem stems from the fact that, for all your brazen behaviour, both of you are painfully shy and have been tiptoeing around each other like thirteen-year-olds during their very first date? The way you two met has also complicated things. If he and you had not befriended each other by talking about your respective love interests, there wouldn't have been any misunderstandings and awkwardness and you two would probably have kissed hours ago.

After showing you Juuban Highschool where he met Odango and her friends, your stranger/friend/almost-boyfriend proceeds to pointing out all the other places he, his siblings and their friends had frequented after school.

"...There is Hikawa Shrine where Rei-chan, a good friend of Odango, lived and where Odango and her friends always met up to study. There — you can't see it well from here because it's kind of inconspicuous — is the little flower shop where Kakyuu always bought her roses. She used to buy a bunch or two every week and dry them for her incense burner..."

By coincidence, Kakyuu's favourite flower shop is the same where the red-haired girl and her boyfriend bought her bouquet of roses, and you can't help but wonder for the nth time since the accident how she is presently doing. What actually happened to her and her boyfriend after they both recovered from the accident? Did they simply repeat their date as if nothing had happened? Or did she break up with him because she realized that he was not the harmless guy she had thought him to be?

You remember that, years ago, after waking up from another dream haunted by her, you had been lingering over the same thoughts. Next to you, Gin had been smoking, staring into the distance with something like petulance on his lips while clutching his mobile phone. From what you could hear, the Boss was expecting him to pay Pandora's Box a visit to justify his actions towards the blue-clad biker who had only been supposed to receive a little warning and not a full-blown accident. Back then you thought that it took the Boss unnaturally long to reprimand Gin for what had happened. Apparently, Gin had managed to hush it up for over two months before his surrogate father got wind of the unfortunate affair...

"Why do you have to go to Pandora's Box?" you remember asking him. "Can't you all meet up in a normal conference room to talk it over?"

The meeting was scheduled at Pandora's Box for a symbolic reason, Gin had answered. After all, the files the traitor had stolen were a backup of Pandora's Box's top-secret files about the first days of the Organization's foundation. A normal member would have had their fingers and head cut off if they had done what the seventh crow did. But the other crows handed down such a ridiculously lenient sentence because they were all cowards when it came to "that person" and "the little rat" was unquestionably one of his favourites.

"Say, the accident... Did I cause it?"

"Argh, don't flatter yourself! Stop obsessing over her and forget it already!"

With a pang of conscience, you recall that you had often wondered whether your interference had only made it worse. In one of your worst nightmares, you found out that Gin had only intended to scare the red-haired girl to draw her boyfriend's attention to the fact that Gin could kill his girlfriend whenever he wanted to. Your haphazard and emotional reaction, which caused the car to skid and turn at a wider angle than expected, might have caused the accident instead of saving the girl's life — a hypothesis which would explain why Gin wasn't beside himself with rage as he certainly would have been if he had really been trying to kill them and you had hindered him.

To Gin's credit, he had always brushed off your question when you asked him to tell you the truth, claiming that he would naturally have killed her if it hadn't been for you. As much as his evasiveness irritated you, he certainly meant well when he tried to protect you from something you couldn't deal with. He had always complained that he didn't like how you were prone to empathize with outsiders, people like the red-haired girl who, if the situation had been reversed, would certainly not have spared a thought for you.

Just idle speculation, you think to yourself. Challenged by unanswered questions, your ungovernable mind is groping for a solution no matter how preposterous and fanciful. Hence — to fight your unfounded anxiety by turning your attention to a matter of more serious concern — you ask the stranger in passing whether he actually belongs to "Tenoh-san's little group."

A delicate question asked in a perfectly indifferent voice. This, you congratulate yourself, is a sensible approach to a problem! Instead of abandoning yourself to the emotional chaos, you might as well conquer it by exchanging the role of the anxious ex-criminal for the role of the imperturbable detective. An undertaking more difficult than it seems as falling in love and thinking clearly are sometimes mutually exclusive.

He has never belonged to any group other than Three Lights, the stranger replies after a second of hesitation. Even if he had wanted to risk his life to fight for a better world, Haruka-san would have been the last person whose orders he would have followed because she was (and still is) such an obnoxious, bossy person.

"I did help them out a few times, though," he admits. "Odango accidentally revealed so much about them to me that Haruka-san decided to turn her weakness into strength. Actually, she managed to talk me into financing her hare-brained schemes more than once. Haruka-san always knew how to turn a mistake to her advantage, and she never had any scruple to do so." With a shrug, he cheerfully adds: "Back then I was always broke. I don't know what I would have done without Taiki and Yaten."

Odango... The cute little blonde was someone you would never have expected to be part of Tenoh-san's group. Dulled by your peaceful life in the past three years, you have forgotten that the most dangerous agents were often the most harmless looking.

"It seems you have a dangerous taste," you remark. "And you yourself have financed private counter-terrorism. Is there anything else about you I should know?"

"Oh, I think you have a much more dangerous taste than me. And you can't seriously expect me to make a declaration against myself." He gives you an enigmatic smile and, indicating the azalea shrubs in the distance, inquires: "Was Pandora's Box really the only reason why Kudo left?"

"Yes," you frown, searching in your memory for the one truth which always seems to change its shape whenever you think you've grasped it. "It seems pretty petty, doesn't it? But I can't even resent him for it since I ruined three years of work and got rid of the perfect tool he needed to sacrifice himself for humanity and justice."

"Keeping it would have been suicide," the stranger agrees. "Did he really plan to do that?"

"Of course he did. Kudo would never pass up the chance to save the world even at the cost of his own life. In that aspect, he is sadly predictable."

You still remember clearly the moment Kudo told you he knew about Pandora's Box. It was on one of those days in late autumn when the wind grew chill and the kinmouku-sei scent began to fade from the air. You had been walking next to each other in silence, strolling through the woods behind the Professor and the Detective Boys until he finally began to fill you in on what had been happening. An eccentric agent of the FBI — Mr. Black's cousin, a fencing teacher of Franco-American origin who was still more or less affiliated with the FBI despite leading a secluded life in France — had insider information on Pandora's Box he was going to disclose to Kudo if Kudo could prove his dedication and his skills during a meeting at Quai Montebello.

"Quai Montebello... How are you supposed to go there without papers?"

Liar, you think to yourself. In reality, you had already finished the permanent antidote months ago. Furthermore, you only pretended to be surprised at the place of the meeting to cover the real reason for your astonishment when Kudo described the FBI agent...

"Just like last time when I went to London. You will give me a few of your temporary antidotes, won't you?"

"Doesn't it bother you that you are growing immune to it?"

"Not in the least," he grinned. "I'm positive that, if that were the case, you wouldn't give it to me."

"You mentioned Pandora's Box once," Kudo continued as you two slowed down, losing sight of the Professor and the Detective Boys in the more heavily vegetated part of the woods. "Why were you so terrified of it?"

The children had been busy inspecting various plants for a school project and were preoccupied with themselves, as you two had already finished the assignment and they — getting more independent with age — didn't want any help from you. Without them around, this moment was the ideal one for a heart-to-heart. However, although you had been struggling with this issue ever since Kudo and you met, you realized you weren't ready for this conversation.

"I was shocked that you would have been stupid enough to ask the police to investigate their headquarters. Since we need a plan before walking into the Boss' favourite refuge as if we were visiting a new fancy restaurant, I was against you informing the police about such a dangerous number."

Much to your surprise, he suddenly stopped and turned you around to face him. Even in his child form and with his nerdy glasses on his tiny nose, he managed to look serious, almost imposing.

Mr. Jean Black — or M Jean Black — claimed that Pandora's Box wasn't really their headquarters, he said. It was a storage of files containing information like the names of the Organization's members, affiliated groups and institutions, the details of your parents' research, and the history of the Organization. Since the FBI and the CIA seemed to have been infiltrated by the Organization's moles, Kudo and Hattori had decided to ask Kaitou Kid for help to secure Pandora's Box on their own.

"Since it's dangerous, I don't expect you to come with us. But if you tell me everything you know about it, it will make things much easier."

Naturally, you could simply have given him the key and wash your hands of it. However, it dawned on you that there was another choice you had failed to consider. Since the odds were against two Jean Blacks of Franco-American origin being both fencing teachers living in Paris, you deduced M Jean Black must be the same man you had seen with Tenoh-san once. And rapidly going through the pros and cons of having an ally of Tenoh-san's calibre who wasn't particularly averse to resorting to radical measures whenever it suited her purpose, you agreed to assist Kudo, his Osaka friend and the phantom thief under one condition...

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**AN: The poem is from Shakespeare's Sonnet 116.**

Alas, SN (Ritzen/SN1987a) has retired from the fanfic world. You can PM her if you want her fics ("Galatea", "The Antidote", "Modus Operandi"etc.) as a pdf. She has also retired as a beta although she told me she would continue to read my fics. :D From now on, both "Ghost at Twilight" and "Encounter in Venice" will be unbetaed, partly because both Rae and SN are busy and partly because I want to become independent and post a new chapter after finishing it.

In other news: As some of you might have noticed, holmesfreak1412 has used my idea of the APAH capsules in "Encounter in Venice" and this story for her fic "The Cure" (a dark fic dealing with a somewhat controversial subject). I just wanted to point out that I really don't mind at all and find her theory of how the knowledge about such a drug can affect people and their relationships very interesting. However, I'd like to point out that her fic doesn't have anything whatsoever to do with my fics and that the side effects the capsules have in her fics are not the same as the side effects they have in mine. :)


	30. Who, do you think, is more important

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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_**Who, do you think, is more important...**_

_Who, do you think, is more important to the government — Tenoh-san asked you when you demanded that she clarify her standpoint — the Boss and the Seven Crows... or Kudo Shinichi, a consulting detective intent on fighting corruption?_

You two were sitting together in the study on the second floor of Tenoh-san and Kaioh-san's luxurious seaside house, drinking tea and eating Hotaru-chan's home-made cake as if you two were old friends meeting up for a little chat and a jam session. The salty air was filled with the scents of green tea, vanilla, chocolate and a touch of wild roses and kinmouku-sei, Tenoh-san's current fragrance. From two large speakers in a corner of the room, a lyric soprano was singing _The Phantom of the Opera_ with tedious perfection...

Noticing your undisguised irritation, Tenoh-san quickly walked over to the small laptop on the desk and turned off the music.

"Sorry for that," she smiled. "I've almost forgotten what sensitive ears you have... Professor Tomoe told me once he was fascinated by your overdeveloped senses and your almost infallible intuition."

"What a pity he has never told me," you decided to take her assertion with a grain of salt. As much as you liked the thought that Stinger was impressed by your acute senses, you doubted the mad professor would have accepted a non-prodigy like you into his prestigious academy if it hadn't been for the sight of the loaded Beretta.

Returning to her chair, Tenoh-san poured you a new cup of tea and casually carried on with your previous topic. Impatient as she had always been, she didn't even bother with a transitional phrase, giving you the impression that someone had propelled the two of you back into the old topic by flipping an invisible switch on her.

"Even if we leave 'the Silver Bullet' out of the equation," she soberly stated, "I can tell you what would happen if Kudo managed to bring down the Organization and steal Pandora's Box as planned: Turning a deaf ear to all your warnings, he'd immediately open it and use the information."

"I know," you flatly commented. "It's not like he is making a secret out of it." If there was something Kudo couldn't resist, it was the urge to solve mysteries and bring criminals to justice.

Letting her eyes roam over your ten-year-old face, Tenoh-san smiled and calmly took a sip of her steaming tea. Oddly enough, she gave the impression of having just stepped out of a Victorian painting despite her usual blue jeans and blue cotton check shirt. Back at Infinity, you had often stolen curious glances at her tall slim figure picturesquely framed by the antique window and softly silhouetted against the mellow artificial light, wondering how a person who was the ideal illusion of male beauty actually felt about the reality of being a girl.

"Well, I said 'if he managed to steal Pandora's Box' because it's highly unlikely that he will get past the Seven Crows." Tenoh-san always talked about the seven crows as if the little euphemism for the seven highest codename members with access to Pandora's Box were the name of a separate group. "Even without them, I doubt either of you will walk away from the cabin alive or survive for longer than three days without being sniped by a hired assassin." She impatiently waved the idea away as if she were flipping through a boring passage of a book. "But let's assume that things go well, that all the 'bad guys' get arrested and that you manage to get past the Night Baron and secure Pandora's Box without anyone's knowledge... If the Boss and the Seven Crows don't commit suicide in prison as Jean predicts but are actually cooperative — which, in my opinion, they will be since they know that their survival is crucial to a future revival of the Organization — they will be protected by the government they end up working with until they are either freed or secretly assassinated by one of their paranoid multimillionaires or politicians."

"I doubt they will commit suicide," you agreed.

"There will be a subsequent scramble for power in which independent people and small groups like us will have to step back to not get crushed in the end," Tenoh-san frowned while you noted in satisfaction that, to all appearances, she hadn't "retired" yet. "Anyhow, I can tell you from personal experience that our beautiful black birds will be treated like new-born babies after their arrest while people like you and me won't ever be able to sleep in peace anymore."

"I fear you're right," you calmly concurred in answer to her questioning gaze.

"Even if he hides Pandora's Box, Kudo will be the first one to be disposed of." She shot you a curious glance. "Kudo doesn't know when to back off. He will demand justice for all the innocent victims. And incorruptible as he is, he won't even feign cooperation..." Fastidiously removing a long black hair from her chair and letting it fall on the plush brown carpet, she continued with growing certainty: "Maybe Kudo has an outside chance of survival in his present disguise. But if he insists on resuming his normal life, he won't be able to hide that the files are in his possession. Not when everybody who has a secret to hide is frantically searching for them. And we're not talking of harmless little secrets like drug addiction or clandestine affairs."

"I know."

Gin had told you about it one evening when you two discussed the goals of the Organization, marveling over the brilliant future you two would be able to witness if you really managed to conquer Time itself by developing the ideal drug. Humans — he indicated the tourist group passing by your window — obviously needed a new way of organizing themselves since the world's most "civilized" countries weren't different from savage tribes when stripped down to their essentials. The most civilized and educated people born with a silver spoon in their mouths didn't possess much more humanity than cannibals devouring the flesh of their enemy. Pain only mattered when it had an immediate impact on one's own life. And the comfortable, sheltered existence of one privileged group wasn't founded on ideals like equality and justice as publicly proclaimed but on the pain of other groups less favoured by what the lucky ones would cynically call "providence" or "destiny".

One could lose one's belief in humanity after reading the files in Pandora's Box — when one had to face the truth about war crimes, drug abuse, human trafficking, and terrorism. "It's inevitable in this world, though," he had claimed, opening a new package of cigarette and reaching for his lighter. "You're always either the prey or the predator... whatever you've become depending on your talents and your luck. People who don't want to face reality are hypocrites living in their cute little fantasy world. They don't want to see that — to provide them with the small everyday things they always take for granted — many other people on the same planet are being sacrificed out of necessity."

Contrary to popular belief, there was simply not enough to feed the whole world, he shrugged. Even if the wealthy would voluntarily give up all their material possessions, there wouldn't be enough resources to provide for everyone's basic needs like shelter, food, and education. The world was overpopulated with dumb, passive, and selfish people multiplying at lightning speed — which was why the weapon industry was thriving and it really didn't matter who survived and who got killed. Whenever an idiot would finally kick the bucket, ten other useless idiots would volunteer to take that dead idiot's place in a meaningless fight over some abstruse problem.

The more gruesome the news on TV became, the less the anonymous sufferings would make an impact. Actually, one couldn't care less about the victims because living standards would always improve after a war when less people had to compete with each other. "It's almost impossible not succumb to this all-pervasive air of corruption and apathy since it's the one world in which we are all struggling to survive... But all these things will change if you can complete your parents' research and develop the perfect cure..."

"Knowledge and time is what our organization needs," he had smiled, giving your earlobe an ardent kiss which, despite the scent of tobacco, charmed you enough to settle on his lap and lean your head against his comfortable shoulder. "With the perfect tools to exercise absolute power over the world, the Organization will slowly change the inhabitants of this planet until the utopia of 'eternal equality and happiness for all' will be as real and as familiar as humiliation and pain are to us now. In contrast to all the silly human rights organizations, the Organization doesn't waste time solving petty problems and discussing philosophies. Using all the sources and mechanisms of this pitiful world to our advantage, we're going to rise above the limitations of time and space, rule over the whole universe and change it forever for the sake of humanity..."

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Tenoh-san, who had lapsed into a glum silence for an unbearably long minute, finally emptied her cup of tea and decisively pushed it aside before scrutinizing you again with her clear, hard eyes.

"I've been watching your detective for years and admire him immensely," she said, her husky voice gentle and soothing as if she were about to sing you a lullaby. "He is one of the few who really live up to their own moral standards." With a nonchalant flicker of her wrist, she casually added: "Unfortunately, Kudo's biggest weakness is his compulsion to be fair and good. Once he has opened Pandora's Box, he'll be an eyesore even for me. I'm going to take him out myself if his sense of justice endangers my family."

Having finished her speech, she leant back into her chair with her arms folded in front of her chest, studying you with polite curiosity.

"I've already thought of that," you admitted in resignation. None of the things she just said came as a surprise, as you had pondered over the matter for the whole night before you came here. It was perfectly clear to you that, even though Tenoh-san herself seemed to pursue a private vendetta against the Boss, her sense of justice would indubitably clash with Kudo's in the long run.

"I'm sure you have," Tenoh-san chuckled. "If you want my honest opinion, I think the only thing you can do is not giving Kudo the key although, now that he knows about them, he will find a way to get the files with or without your help. It's just as pointless trying to stop him. If he deems it necessary, he'll use his fancy tranquilizer watch on you and that's it." She fixed her eyes on you with interest, perhaps because she couldn't tell why you had come to her out of all people.

"I know," you curtly responded. "He has already used it on me once."

"And, did it prevent you from following him?"

"No. But I messed it up. I'd be dead by now if I hadn't been saved by... a lucky coincidence."

"You'd better not count on such dumb luck this time."

"No, I'll count on my survival instinct instead."

"Your survival instinct will be useless because it's the Seven Crows you're up against."

Again you two lapsed into a sudden silence although it felt strangely comfortable this time.

"I'm only so candid because I like you a lot, koneko-chan," she smiled at last, changing the topic as quickly as the wind changes its direction. "Maybe because you were the only girl who resisted me back at Infinity. You were perfectly immune to my charms. And that despite all my efforts to steal your heart—"

"To break it, I suppose. Just because I was one of the three girls who didn't get brainwashed and didn't watch your races screaming 'Tenoh-sama, Tenoh-sama, please marry me'," you remarked, wondering whether you would have developed a crush on her if you hadn't noticed that the tall handsome blonde giving you outrageous winks when you passed each other in the long corridors of Infinity was a cross-dressing girl. "How you managed to casually kiss so many people and still enjoyed that happy relationship with Kaioh-san completely evades me."

"Michiru knows the one I love is her," Tenoh-san shrugged. After all, it was impossible to love two people with the same intensity. And no matter whom she found cute enough to kiss, Michiru would always be the one who really mattered, she elaborated.

"I suppose that's why she's still staying with me."

"I wouldn't be able to put up with someone who casually makes out with other girls," you mused. "After a while, the jealousy would be unbearable."

"The lovers and spouses of film stars have to put up with those things all the time, but most of them wouldn't be able to stick by a sociopath for three years," Tenoh-san calmly retorted. "What did you call it? Loyalty? Playing his perfect little wife juggling career and housework while hiding the relationship from your own sister in the hope that the brute would change for the better as time passes... That seems much more silly to me than staying with a partner who truly loves you although they indulge in a few insignificant flings from time to time."

"I was a brainless teenager back then," you defensively answered, biting back the remark that Tenoh-san herself was a borderline sociopath in the making. "I admit the only good things I got from my so-called 'marriage' are my caution and my excellent shooting skills. Kudo is a very good shooter as well. If you can cover us at Pandora's Box, I'm sure we can get past the seven crows. I'm going to delete the files on your family if you help us out."

"No, thank you very much," Tenoh-san dryly remarked. "I'm sure Kudo will never really shoot anybody, not even out of self-defense. Apart from that, I won't put any of my friends in that kind of danger for something I can get in another way. Didn't Gin tell you that the Seven Crows call the laptop 'Pandora's Box' because they believe it contains all the tools humankind needs to destroy itself? Since I'll be caught in the mesh sooner or later, anyway, I'm going to step back and enjoy the glorious spectacle."

And strike in a flash at the right moment, you mentally added. That was undoubtedly what Tenoh-san was going to do. Like a vulture, she would be waiting patiently until she could take Pandora's Box from Kudo's corpse. Growing up in a harsh world where the means justified the ends, Tenoh-san had learned to fight for her own justice using her own methods, intuitively bending the rules to her advantage without caring much for lofty ideals like Kudo.

She and you were, without being romantically linked, what some people would classify as "soul mates," you thought in detached amusement. If you two were characters in Ayumi-chan's favourite fairy tales, you both would be dark creatures secretly longing for unattainable freedom and salvation. But while you yourself had always resembled the little mermaid who struggled with her own emotional turmoil and hesitated until her moment passed, Tenoh-san — cool and unscrupulously decisive — possessed an amazing swiftness of reaction.

"According to the things I know, I doubt your shooting skills will be of any use to you two if you really have to deal with the Seven Crows," she continued. "The best way to get rid of them would be poison or a bomb although you probably don't know who they are and I won't ever reveal their identities to you."

"Even if you did, Kudo wouldn't ever poison anybody," you smiled. "He will always make sure that everyone survives to get a fair trial."

"Well, his pacifism will kill him in the long run," Tenoh-san shrugged.

"I know..."

This, among many other reasons, was why you were still apprehensive about giving Kudo the permanent cure. As long as his name wasn't connected to you and Pandora's Box, Kudo could return to Ran after the downfall of the Organization and continue his life under his real identity in peace. Once the name "Kudo Shinichi" had been linked to the Silver Bullet or Pandora's Box, however, there would be no chance left for Kudo to continue his normal life. You would naturally have preferred Kudo to stay in the background and let the FBI do all the work. But as the Organization's moles had already infiltrated the FBI and — to paraphrase Tenoh-san — the FBI's little secrets were also stored in Pandora's Box, Tenoh-san's little prodigy group was your only hope left to get Kudo alive out of this situation.

"I do believe you're an excellent shot and won't miss a target if you get the chance to draw your weapon," Tenoh-san jumped from her chair and gave your shoulder a friendly pat. "And I'm sure Gin will let his emotions get the better of him when it comes to you. But I can assure you that you won't have a chance against the other five. I'm not sure about whether I really want Kudo to succeed either. So... If you value your own life, I recommend that you stay out of this." Pacing the room with the air of a beautiful Bengal tiger in confinement, she stopped in front of her small "family photo" on the mantlepiece near the grand piano.

As much as she would like to do it, she couldn't offer you her assistance, Tenoh-san continued with an air of regret. After hearing from her informants about Jean's plans, she would have tried to convince Jean not to contact Kudo if she had believed that she out of all people could have changed Jean's decision. Indicating the photo on the mantlepiece, she added almost apologetically: "And now that I have so much more to lose than seven years ago, I'm not going to sacrifice myself for a lost cause."

"I'm aware of that."

Intrigued by your comment, Tenoh-san smiled at you with renewed interest.

"I'm sure you're smart enough to have anticipated everything I've just told you before you came here." She appeared genuinely puzzled. "But I don't know why you still asked me for my assistance although you knew I was going to refuse. I can't believe that you missed me so much that you needed to see my face before you get killed. So... what do you actually want from me?"

You had arrived at the point of no return, and it was crucial to maintain your composure so that Tenoh-san wouldn't guess the real reason of your visit before giving you the information you needed.

You were curious as to whether her computer experts had found any virtual security loopholes since you were trying to find a way to disable the Night Baron so that Kudo could open Pandora's Box before the system sent off the mail alerts, you told her without pausing for breath. "Afterwards we can leave the cabin before the bombs go off. And all the blackmailed people can content themselves with the thought that whoever tried to open Pandora's Box has died in the explosion."

"There is no security loophole," Tenoh-san sighed. "It's not so easy to snoop in their cloud with the Night Baron around. As I said, I have too much to lose now. I'm also not suicidal."

Your spirits sank. Either she had seen through your attempt of grilling her about their Night Baron copy or she had really given up the project.

"Once was more than enough," she absent-mindedly took a few pages of sheet music on the piano music stand into her hand and then put them down again in frustration. "We're still working on it, but right now there is no way to deactivate their top-notch alert system without erasing the whole disc before the time runs out."

Wonderful, you thought to yourself. So they did have the Night Baron copy you needed. You could proceed to the next step now.

"It's a pity Kudo can't wait for twenty years since the second generation will be easier to deal with than the first," Tenoh-san said. To your surprise, she was getting rather talkative.

"The second generation has doubts?"

"Of course, just like you yourself didn't support the Organization fully when you were working for them." She smiled with a hint of derision. Time had shown that any tight-knit community with strict moral codes like the core of the Organization would be undermined by the generation gap. As time passed, chances were that even the legendary Seven Crows would no longer share the same deep conviction...

Swinging a long leg over the piano stool, she effortlessly let her short neat nails glide over the white keys for a perfect pearly upward glissando.

"The first generation is always the heroic one," she asserted, "willing to make great sacrifices for their community and their ideals. The second generation already has serious doubts as to the methods of the Organization although they are still pursuing their parents' goals. The third will definitely be the downfall of them." She gazed at you with calm confidence. "In contrast to Kudo, I can wait. I wish he could wait as well. Four of the seven crows are so old they will retire in ten to twenty years at the latest… Replacing those first-generation members with second- or third-generation members will dismantle the whole system."

But ten to twenty years were much too long, you thought. In ten to twenty years, Ran would probably have married someone else. Even if she could wait, Kudo and she would have lost thirteen to twenty-three years of their lives they could have spent with each other in perfect bliss if it hadn't been for you. Robbing three years from them was more than enough. Taking twenty years would be a crime...

"But I doubt we can make Kudo wait for twenty years," Tenoh-san reflected.

"No, I don't think we should even try."

Closing the piano lid, she once again lapsed into a sullen silence before shaking her head with an air of finality.

"No one can dispense justice all over the world on their own. And I suggest that you leave the Sleeping Kogoro and the police out of this matter since it doesn't come within the purview of the police. The more people know about this, the messier the aftermath will be. It's best to avoid unnecessary bloodshed." Strolling to the open window to gaze down to her large garden brimming over with the seven autumn flowers, she leaned against the windowsill for a moment and gave a fleeting smile as the wind ruffled her short blonde hair.

"I'm sorry I can't assist Kudo and you," she proceeded. "The odds that you two succeed and survive are practically zero, and I really don't want to back the wrong horse. I'll have enough trouble to deal with the aftermath of your heroic actions... Sucking up to authorities, flirting with secretaries and paying intermediaries — as if my current tasks weren't annoying enough, now it seems I'll have to deal with blackmailers and paranoid big names as well." Winking at you, she joked: "You can't imagine what a pain it is to deal with them while preparing for a concert. The quality of my performances will surely drop, you see."

"Your poor fans... According to what you know about the Night Baron, the alert mails will only send the data of the person who used the key to the cabin, right?" you asked, not caring a bit about her busy schedule.

"Yes, but even if you were in disguise, it won't help you much. I'm sure Gin must have told you about this. You voice, your fingerprints, your bone structure: everything will be saved and compared to the data in their files before you enter the cabin and will be sent off to all the addresses on the Organization's lists the moment you open the real Pandora's Box. If one can get past that identification procedure with a disguise, I would have done it long ago." She chuckled. "Whatever, maybe I'd have been mad enough for such a stunt if it hadn't been for Michiru."

Time to proceed to the next step, you thought to yourself. Since Tenoh-san was still immensely interested in the files, you were positive that she would agree to what you were going to propose to her.

"If you don't give Kudo the key, he will try to get Pandora's Box by luring Gin into a trap," she continued. "It's the only way for him to obtain Pandora's Box without activating the bombs. If I'm honest, I must admit I'm curious about the showdown: The notorious second crow versus our chibi detective... If the other five crows don't show up and end the fight within a second, it might be something worth watching."

Despite her dark humour, you knew Tenoh-san was anything but sadistic. In fact, it was interesting how words were often used to disguise the truth instead of revealing it.

"No, there won't be any showdown," you disagreed, wondering why she had said "five" instead of "six" for the second time. "I think I've been avoiding this much too long." In answer to her alarmed gaze, you smiled. "Besides, you can congratulate me if you like. I've found the antidote although I don't know how to get rid of its side effects. Nothing that won't be gone in a few years, though. But why only 'five crows?' Shouldn't it be six?"

"Side effects again?" she raised a skeptical brow. "It's only Gin and five other crows because I know the seventh won't interfere. Third-generation member who is more or less on our side."

"Only physical pain this time... Well, strong migraines which drive all the rats insane. But I've developed a very efficient painkiller against them. And the pain doesn't seem permanent." You had just taken your coat when you remembered that the seventh crow must be the same biker whom Gin had given the red card. "I can't let Kudo wait any longer. It's time to give him his life back..."

As expected, Tenoh-san was at your side within the split of a second, grabbed your arm and angrily flung you back into the chair. Her skin smelled very pleasantly of a velvety wild rose fragrance. A unisex perfume with a quite sensual, warm touch of (white?) musk but — contrary to what you had thought — no kinmouku-sei.

"You've never intended to walk away from this alive, haven't you?" she slammed her fist on the coffee table, causing the spoons to clink against the china plates. "That's why you sounded me out about the Night Baron." She was seething with rage. "You think everything will be alright if you open Pandora's Box and offer yourself as a scapegoat, serving Kudo the files on a silver plate and leaving it to others to clean up the mess after you. But things aren't that easy, koneko-chan. A sacrifice like that is only an easy way out. I won't accept it!"

"Things will be easy," you set her straight. "I'm not going to give Kudo but you a copy of the original Pandora's Box. You can do whatever you want with it. The second one I'm going to keep in a computer where Meioh-san's Night Baron imitation is installed. The files will be deleted as soon as somebody tries to get the data without a password. And I promise I'd rather die before anyone can make me talk." You meaningfully indicate the cage-shaped locket around your neck. "That way, no one will get hurt. You will certainly use the information within limits, won't you?"

"No one will get hurt... What about you?" Tenoh-san gave a dry laugh. "But I suppose that little locket implies a perfectly painless way to leave this world. You've always enjoyed the little luxuries of life, haven't you?"

You shrugged.

"It's one way to redeem myself for creating APTX... Also, I've already had a great time with the children and the Professor. Any life has to end some day. And as you said, an easy way out can be considered a treat as well."

"So you were really going to ask Setsuna-san for the Night Baron copy?" Tenoh-san returned to her chair and demonstratively folded her arms. "That's wonderful, koneko-chan. Sacrificing yourself and offering me a bait I can't resist to protect your beloved detective... It's formidable self-defeat, in my opinion — but compared to your behaviour last time when you insisted on staying with your scoundrel of a 'husband,' this is definitely a dramatic improvement. You can be proud of it."

"He is not my detective," you remarked as Tenoh-san seemed to have mistaken Kudo for your boyfriend. "In any case, you would have taken Pandora's Box after he has been assassinated, wouldn't you? No need to do that now."

She rubbed her temples in exasperation.

"You and your sister... Always devising grand self-destructive plans and sacrificing yourselves for your loved ones. I really doubt that your scheme will work out well because it will only appease the blackmailed people but won't erase the fact that Kudo is simply too nice to be a match for the Seven Crows. Even if I helped you and gave away their identities, Kudo would only try to arrest them, wouldn't he? And things would proceed exactly as I've told you. They'll take revenge on us before we can even plant flowers on your grave. And it'll be difficult for me to take them out because they'll be under witness protection."

"That's why I need your assistance," you insisted. "Six people aren't that hard to take care of if you really know their identity." Mildly amazed about her remark regarding Akemi-nee-san because you didn't know that Tenoh-san and your sister knew each other, you asked: "But why did you mention my sister? Did she talk to you as well?"

"She also came to me before planning the robbery," Tenoh-san sighed, "She knew about us because Setsuna-san had contacted her to grill her about Pandora's Box. Since you didn't tell Akemi-san anything, she didn't really know what we were talking about. But since she liked me so much, she wanted my opinion on how to buy your freedom."

"That was impossible," you frowned. "She knew codename members couldn't buy themselves out."

"That's what I told her. They would never let you go since codename members couldn't buy themselves out unlike normal members. I even told her that, if she requested it in front of the Seven Crows, chances were she would immediately be shot for treason. After the thing with Rye, I was sure they'd already have executed her if you hadn't been their top scientist. I told her to stay inconspicuous and to do absolutely nothing to incur their disapproval. But the stubborn girl simply wouldn't listen to me!"

"So she had to die because of me?" you calmly asked. You had known this since the moment Gin showed you the newspaper article.

"No, you can blame yourself as much as you want but things weren't really like that," Tenoh-san shook her head. "Of course she wanted you to have a happy youth instead of wasting your life in the lab. But she also told me she knew very well that her death would affect you negatively... Even though she had a bad premonition, I'm sure she wanted to believe that she had a chance to survive. She even told me she was looking forward to going out with her 'Dai-kun' for real if her plan should work out. She was a sensible girl, though. I think if it hadn't been for your scheming ex-husband, she would have listened to my advice."

"Gin?" Your head began to spin as the truth sank in. "What did Gin have to do with it?"

Equally taken aback by your reaction to her words, Tenoh-san threw you a wary look as if she had just realized that, in telling you the truth, she had put herself into an invidious position.

Since people always shot the messenger in a fit of rage, she wouldn't have told you if she hadn't expected you to know all about it, Tenoh-san said at last. But according to your sister, Gin was the one who promised her that she was allowed to buy you out of the Organization if the sum was large enough. Deep down, Akemi-nee-san must have known that it was a trap — a hypothesis which would explain why she decided to hide the money after the robbery. But as she desperately wanted to use the chance to give you the freedom you wanted, she gambled on the Seven Crow's greed and agreed to rob the bank.

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	31. After a short spell of

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**After a short spell of...**

After a short spell of fine rain, the wind has picked up again, bringing new thick black rain clouds. Within only a few minutes, another thunderstorm blows up and the rain comes down again in torrents, lashing against the balustrade where the two of you are standing. The moist air is heavy with the earthy smell of rain mingled with the scent of the stranger's shampoo and the fragrance of azalea and spring roses. Unconcerned about his white cardigan and his hair he has just washed, the stranger asserts in amusement that you seem to share a distinctive characteristic with the weather...

"... or with a cat that purrs but runs away the moment one begins to stroke it," he remarks while the wind is tearing at his hair and his clothes. "Odango once showed me a few alley cats like that. Some of them even scratch or bite even though — to put it in Odango's words — they appeared perfectly cuddly."

Startled by his statement, it takes you a second to digest that the disrespectful cheeky wretch has just compared you to a savage alley cat.

"It's your problem if you misinterpret the situation," you smirk, taking a few steps back so that you don't get drenched. "I can't remember asking you to cuddle me."

"Would you have preferred a certain detective to cuddle you instead?" he pretends to be irritated.

"Maybe," you decide to bruise his ego a bit because he apparently needs it. Deducing from his wounded gaze that you've succeeded, you generously add: "But since he won't ever do it, I'd have made do with you if it hadn't been for your phone ringing at the wrong moment. Your siblings are abnormally attached to you, by the way. Getting so much love all day must be a burden."

"I should be hurt but all I can hear is that you'd have made do with me..." he winks. "What about turning back time and continuing where we left off?"

Turning back time... The phrase triggers random memories of other people who have used the same words in another context. Meioh-san, for example, told you once that one had to pay a price for messing with the Stream of Time when she learned from Tenoh-san that you were continuing your parents' research. And Kudo said he would be trying to "turn back time" when he told you he was going back to Ran...

"Alright, let's go back and drape ourselves on your sofa again," you deadpan without the slightest fear that he will take you literally. Just like you, he knows that it is futile to do the same thing again in a pathetic attempt to recreate a moment that has passed.

"No, thanks. Odango told me one should stop when cats show that they've had enough of petting." He gives you an insolent little smirk. "If one leaves them alone, they will come back the next time they want it."

Despite the rain, he is still leaning against the wet balustrade as if he enjoyed getting soaked.

"Besides, it wasn't really the phone since you could have ignored it. You said Kudo was the one who left, but it wouldn't surprise me if it was you who actually bailed, fleeing from Kudo just like you've fled from me." He furrows his brow in mock concentration. "That theory doesn't explain why you gave Kuroba a chance, though. Maybe you didn't like him enough to consider him a danger to your independence?"

"Your theory is absurd," you grimace, shivering slightly in the icy wind. "I told you I even accepted Kudo's proposal despite my fear of marriage, didn't I? I'd never have left him if he hadn't told me that we were so different we might as well have belonged to different galaxies. Also, the first thing he told me after we made up was that he was going to return to his childhood friend to make everyone happy. It was him who broke it up, not me."

Even the weather is the same as three years ago, you distractedly note. Nevertheless, you can no longer feel any guilt or sorrow. A part of you is still waiting for a punishment because you would have liked to believe in divine retribution for criminals who have evaded human justice. But after years of waiting, you no longer believe in it.

"I think there is much more to the story than the files you deleted," the stranger remarks. "All the things you've told me until now simply don't add up. According to Haruka-san, you tricked both Kudo and her and erased the files on the real Pandora's Box — I don't mean the main computer in Pandora's-Box-the-cabin that only served as a decoy but Pandora's-Box-the-tiny-laptop-like thing where the seven crows kept their most important files... In that case, wouldn't it have been easier to leave it exactly where it was — on Pandora's-Box-the-ship which was going to explode, anyway — instead of messing with it? Why did you activate it so that the only option for you to survive was to erase it completely?"

He is the first person you know who is actually making fun of Pandora's Box. And you wonder why it has never struck you as ridiculous that the ship, the cabin and the "real" Pandora's Box all share the same name.

"Since thinking is not your forte, you should let it be," you laugh, watching the raindrops running down the balustrade with the absurd feeling that — if you commanded them to stop in the middle of their movement — they would actually obey you. Pandora's Box has never seemed as harmless as it looks to you now after it has been reduced to a "tiny laptop-like thing" not worth any sacrifice. If you were less inhibited, you'd already have smothered stranger-san with kisses because he has just protected you from your own mind without knowing.

Noticing your good mood, he flashes you a spontaneous smile. And the wave of euphoria which has been undermining your ability to think clearly during this completely messed-up date is sweeping over you once again as you carelessly abandon yourself to the unaffected warmth of his startlingly blue eyes.

"Why do I have the feeling you're getting more abusive towards me with time?" he chuckles.

"What shall I say? You're asking for it."

"It's your way of showing affection, isn't it?"

"Don't flatter yourself! If I'm in the mood, I can be just as mean towards others as I'm towards you."

Contrary to your expectations, he doesn't respond with a joke but suddenly contemplates you with a troubled look similar to the ones he gave you a few hours ago when you two were sharing the boulder in the park.

"You're especially mean towards Kudo, aren't you?" he belatedly quips. "You're doing your best to keep him at a distance. But Kudo's behaviour seems odd to me as well... I certainly wouldn't have broken up an engagement so soon after the first serious disagreement. I think he'd have stayed if you had let him." Almost reluctantly, he adds: "This somehow reminds me of the misunderstanding between Mamoru-san and Odango when he went abroad. They almost split up because he is an idiot when it comes to communication."

"In our case, _you_ are the idiot," you blurt out, trembling with anger at the realization of what he is trying to say. Despite the impetuous confessions on both sides, you two are still trapped in a web of mistrust and misunderstandings. But why "still" if you've only known each other for a few hours? Has it been really only three and a half hours since you met him for the second (or the third?) time since yesterday's sunset? It seems to you like three and a half years in an alternative timeline...

"Why me?" he throws you an exasperated glance. "It's Kudo who passed out on your sofa and you who ran away and locked him up in your apartment. I'm the only sensible person of us three. You should solve whatever problems Kudo and you have because you'll never forgive yourself if you simply let him go to Osaka like this."

Since he apparently believes that you would immediately leap into Kudo's arms if only Kudo would take pity on you and dump his lovely girlfriend for your sake, you will have to nip the silly misunderstanding in the bud before it jeopardizes everything. To his credit, he doesn't seem particularly happy about what he has just suggested. Eight years ago, you might have been flattered by the thought that he has only suggested it because he thought it to be in your best interests. Now, however, it irks you that he (like all the other men you were once in love with) treats you like a little princess who needs the noble knight to help her make the right decision.

"I don't need anyone's forgiveness," you sharply retort. "Neither mine, nor his, nor yours. Since you weren't there, you don't know anything about what really happened. And even if you did, you wouldn't have the right to tell me what to do."

Taken aback, he apologizes for his obnoxiousness. In return, you grudgingly admit that you've been absolutely insufferable.

"The most insufferable woman I know," he playfully bows as if he had just paid you a compliment by using the superlative. "I hope you won't mellow with age."

"If that's a compliment: Thank you."

The two of you smile at each other in silence, as if words have become redundant and ineffectual means to express what you both are feeling. Just like him, you know perfectly the direction in which this troublesome attraction is heading without knowing what to do about it. You've lived long enough to know how difficult it is to find true emotional connection and unconditional friendship. Exchanging such a bond for something as fragile as a romantic relationship will, if things go wrong, seem to both of you like a rather foolish act, especially since it won't be only destructive but also irreversible.

And yet it seems futile to fight against this never-ending morning twilight, against the intoxicating scents and sounds which fill your senses and colour your world whenever you are with him. In retrospect, it seems to you as if the promise of love has already been hiding in the first unsuspecting gaze and the first innocent touch — as if loneliness has forged a link between you two the first time you met without either of you two realizing it before it was too late for both of you.

Behind him, the rain is still pelting down in streams, splashing against the balustrade and soaking through his cardigan. Noticing that he shows no inclination to move away from the wet balustrade, you reach out your hand to pull him away from it. There must be some lucky misunderstanding because he unexpectedly leans in and quickly brushes his lips against yours, drawing away just when you are about to return the first fleeting kiss that fills you with a sudden rush of excitement and pleasure.

For a moment, he pauses to gaze at you in silence, apparently unsure whether he is allowed to kiss you or not while you are still mute with amazement about the unfamiliar sensation. Trying to hide your confusion by avoiding his eyes, you wonder why all the other kisses in your life seem in retrospect completely harmless, charming you with their undeniable pleasantness without kindling desire.

"Now you can tell Kudo that we've kissed, can't you?" he chuckles, his low voice barely audible due to the sound of rain in the background. "That will wake him up if nothing else will."

Startled out of your stupor with a vengeance, you could have kicked him for ruining the mood with his inappropriate joke when the thought hits you that the dreadful flirt only regards the peck as an element of casual flirting. After Kaito and Gin, you should have known better than to interpret too much into a simple kiss. In order to save your pride, you pull yourself together and defiantly meet his eyes. But your anger evaporates as you discover genuine sadness in them and realize that he has mistaken your silence for a rejection.

"Come on," he gently says, removing his hand from your cheek. "Let's go in since you're frozen."

You would have liked to tell him that he is the one you, for purely selfish reasons, really want. Does it really matter that you've known him for less than a day if the attraction is mutual? For once you feel like abandoning yourself to what might be blind passion because you feel with certainty that love is finally within your grasp. But you don't tell him as words always fail you in the face of strong feelings. And as you remain silent, he hesitantly turns away and the moment passes...

Or at least this is what would have happened if something in you hadn't snapped at that very moment because you were thoroughly fed up with the never-ending vicious circle of reticence, self-denial, missed chances and unfulfilled yearning. No sooner had your fingertips touched his lips than he impulsively swept you into his arms... And now — uncountable kisses and caresses later — after you two have stumbled blindly through his corridor, barely sidestepping the vases of roses with the restlessness of lovers who haven't met for months, you have to laugh at your own sentimental impulse to run your fingers through his hair and to whisper his name as he lets the bathrobe join the guitar on the floor and you two proceed to remove the last barrier between strangers in a yet unknown dance.

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**AN:** As promised, I'm procrastinating by writing instead of editing. I'm thankful for feedback, as always, especially after this chapter since the fic is taking a rather risky turn. :)

Believe it or not, I actually had to throw a coin to decide whether or not to add this scene. Dag told me to do everything I've previously planned since one shouldn't make too many compromises and censor onself. I'm thankful for her advice although I've tried to drag out the development until I felt that I've given Shiho plenty of good excuses for her behaviour.


	32. Unknown is, of course

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**"Unknown" is, of course...**

"Unknown" is, of course, a complete lie, just as "dance" is a somewhat unfitting and ridiculously tame euphemism for what you two have been doing in the past two hours. But is there any word in your vocabulary which could describe it without stirring unwanted emotions or conjure up offensive images? And as for your choice of word when it comes to the adjective: if one doesn't take things too literally, "unknown" is actually a perfectly fitting word, for the things which just happened between the two of you on this much too small bed do not in the least resemble the bothersome and sometimes painful physical stuff you always dreaded when you were with Gin.

Some people would call it love while others would classify it as fascination or contemptuously label it lust, considering that he and you have known each other for such an outrageously short time. But in this world where any single word one utters can have sordid connotations and where the most sincere statements can be mistaken for platitudes and lies, giving the thing a superfluous name wouldn't do justice to its essential purity. Between him and you, a kiss is just a kiss, and caresses are only for pleasure without being part of any power games. Not even once has he tried to dominate you or take possession of you except for the few mad moments in which you wanted it. And waking up from the hazy mist of exhausting yet exquisite sensations, you are almost surprised to discover that you do not in the least regret the past two hours because you are still filled with indescribable feelings of tenderness for him.

Laughing about your futile attempt to free yourself from your intertwined limbs without falling off his narrow bed, he slightly shifts his position to make space for you so that you two can look into each other's eyes now, amazed and bewildered by what has happened. Meanwhile, the storm outside has abated, leaving a moment of perfect stillness which seems even calmer in the soft changing light of the rising sun.

"For someone who had never been kissed until two hours ago, you surely catch up fast," you say at last and lean in to kiss him again, trying to etch the feeling of his lips on yours into your memory as if you feared that he could disappear at any moment.

In response, he only smiles against your lips and sleepily runs his fingers through your hair before he wordlessly places your head on his shoulder.

"Does this count as a kiss in a romantic context?" you jokingly ask, raising your head to give him a peck on his chin. It seems perfectly natural to you now that he will stir up all the irrational and embarrassingly sentimental feelings you believed to have successfully expunged from your mind. Ayumi-chan, the hopeless romantic, would proclaim that in contrast to the one true love in normal fairy tales, true love has given you a second chance when it entered your life for the second time.

"Any kiss with you counts," he smiles. "I have the feeling I've known you all my life although we've known each other for how long?" He turns your wrist around to check your watch and announces in disbelief: "Only fourteen hours."

"Only eight if the hours during which we didn't see each other don't count."

But of course they do count, he asserts and closes his eyes again before he grins and slips your watch off your wrist with the effortless proficiency of an experienced thief. If they didn't count, couples wouldn't know when to celebrate their anniversaries, would they? With his eyes still closed, he slowly extends his right arm over your body and lets the watch drop onto the carpet in a gesture you like so much that you would have liked to film it.

"Maybe we should celebrate our anniversary, too," he murmurs, breathing deeply as if he were drifting into sleep, all the while gently tracing the outline of the scar on your side with one finger before distractedly tapping a slow rhythm on your skin.

Hearing him talk about anniversaries, you realize you two haven't yet agreed on how to continue. Now that the harmless flirt which started this has got out of hand and developed into something neither of you have anticipated, it dawns on you that — due to his tendency to flirt and to joke without a break — you can't know for sure whether he really intends to commit or whether this has been only an outburst of long suppressed passion originally meant for another woman.

"You know you've just broken a promise?" you tentatively address the subject. "I only wonder which one."

He snaps his eyes open at once to throw you a worried look and you inwardly sigh, scolding yourself for ruining the mood by asking the right thing at the wrong time when you see in his gaze that he has grasped what your question implied.

"But I already told you I'm not into things with no strings attached," he teasingly pokes at your cheek. "Will you take care of my paperwork from now on?"

"No, but I will rip up any love letter addressed to you into tiny bits as long as you clean the apartment and do the laundry for me."

"Why not cooking?" he looks genuinely bewildered. "You said cooking was the thing which really mattered."

"Because you can't cook!" you grimace. "Chicken congee and omelette are like ramen. That's not 'cooking' in my dictionary."

"You mean you have to lower your standards because of me?"

"Exactly. I always end up kissing the wrong men, so it seems. I should have waited until I met your perfect flower-loving brother."

"My place or yours?" he asks after kissing you again to make it up to you for your eternal bad luck.

"Your place or mine?" you echo, wondering whether he is being serious.

"Who is going to move in with whom?" he rephrases his question. "You can't seriously expect me to clean two apartments regularly for the rest of my life—"

He can't continue because you've already assaulted him with a series of ardent kisses in a new fit of euphoria.

"My landlady is the nosy type," you tell him later, after you two have abandoned his bed for the more spacious carpet where he and you can stretch out next to each other. "Hence it can't be my apartment. But I really don't want to live with you in your apartment either."

"Because Taiki and Yaten are directly above us?"

Because this is the apartment where Kakyuu was living with him, you explain. Curiously enough, you feel slightly guilty about kissing the man she loved in the same apartment she had chosen for them although she has already been dead for two years.

"What about searching for another apartment we both like?" he suggests.

"Was that a proposal?" you joke, falling into the old pattern with ease.

"No, it wasn't," he smirks. "Since I know how much you despise the word 'marriage', I'm never going to ask you to marry me."

"Alright," you accept with fake nonchalance, wondering whether you would have preferred rejecting a marriage proposal to not getting one at all.

"I will definitely say yes if you propose to me, though," he suggests in a fit of mischievousness.

"Maybe I should," you think aloud, not really meaning it because there is no way you're going to swallow your pride and propose to a man. "It's only a piece of paper, after all."

It is, he agrees. As long as you are with him, he couldn't care less about the bureaucratic stuff. He will sign it if you want and make do without it if you don't want him to. He must warn you that he has a terrible memory, though.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you darkly inquire. "Have you already forgotten who I am?"

"I meant I need a lot of practice because I'm so forgetful," he brazenly smiles, grabs you by your waist and kisses you again.

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Afterwards, when he has fallen asleep and you are listening to his regular breathing and the wind rustling the leaves of the spring roses and azalea shrubs outside, you realize that — just like three years ago — you want to follow a special person around forever, share his life and endure all his annoying little quirks until either (or both?) of you die. Smiling at the thought that yesterday's sunset has propelled you into a parallel universe where lovers can meet as strangers without the shadows of the past, you decide that no matter what the future brings, you will definitely make it last this time.

And yet a growing sense of unease creeps up on you when you drift into sleep and dream of his bike, of Three Lights' roses and of the warm fragrance of kinmouku-sei which simultaneously captivates and saddens you. You can see Kudo's silhouette dissolving into the night and Tenoh-san's blonde hair flying in the wind as she is racing through the wet streets of Paris. _How many pills did you make,_ Kudo asks you one more time, whereupon you confess in resignation that you've made twenty-six. And there is an almost indiscernible, peculiar, repetitive beep in the background when you run through Ueno-koen, searching in vain for your stranger at twilight while, on Kaito's card in your hand, the Queen of Spades smiles...

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	33. Only seven hours

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**Only seven hours...**

Only seven hours, a voice in my mind mocked as I was climbing the stairs to my apartment. Ironically, you are back at the same point where you started off seven hours ago. In your pathetic attempt to avoid unnecessary heartache, you unknowingly ran right into it when you descended these stairs which you are climbing now, laboriously trudging up stair by stair with the memory of the past seven hours haunting you...

In front of the door I stopped for a moment to behold the flower in my hand, a light lavender rose he had bought me on a whim in the same little flower shop where Kakyuu always bought her flowers eight years ago. "Because you like their petals so much," Seiya (who really shouldn't be called "the stranger" anymore after all the kisses we have exchanged) had smiled, referring to the moment when I appreciatively brushed my palm over the roses on his bedside table.

What were the odds that Kudo was still asleep and would let me suffer in peace for a few hours until I was in the mental condition to face him as if nothing had happened, I wondered and immediately found my hopes crushed by the sound of my electric toothbrush when I entered my apartment. He must have woken up only a few minutes before my arrival and was probably brushing his teeth with the spare toothbrush head he had snuck from my drawer. The first thing he did after waking up was rummaging through my belongings, as expected!

After removing my sandals and my cardigan, I placed the box of gyoza Taiki-san had given me on the table and walked to the bar to fill a glass with water for the rose I hadn't been able to throw away despite considering the option. No need to cry over a thing which was doomed from the start, I told myself as the urge to slump onto the floor and weep like a lovesick fourteen-year-old threatened to overtake my more sensible side. But no sooner had I decided to wipe out the last hours from my mind than the memory of him pouring espresso into our cups and asking me whether I believed that fate had something against us appeared vividly in front of my eyes. And — in my unbalanced state of mind — I ended up doing the one thing I had thought I would never do again… When Kudo appeared at the door, beaming at me with a smile which could brighten Azabu Juuban during starless nights, I clung to his shirt, buried my face into it, and cried.

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**Now, after pouring me...**

Now, after pouring me a glass of water and handing me ten capsules of APAH (because I half-lied at him by claiming I was suffering from a splitting headache), Kudo silently fetches me a few tissues, drags me into my bedroom, and insists that I take a nap.

"It helps every time when the migraines get too bad," he remarks, quickly fishes a nightdress out of my closet without even having to search for it, and throws it at me.

"Don't be silly," I flee into the bathroom to dispose of the wet tissues. "I'll be alright in less than three minutes."

After combing my tousled hair and washing my face, I enter the living room with renewed composure, poise, and the resolution to treat my temporary nervous breakdown lightly so that Kudo wouldn't have to deal with a drama that has nothing to do with him. The sun (which has been rising at snail's pace for the whole morning) seems now eager to hasten to its zenith — an odd occurrence which almost convinces me that something is unnatural about today and that I'm going to wake up soon.

"Are you sure you don't need a rest?" Kudo comfortably ensconces himself in his favourite corner of my sofa and looks me up and down with his inquisitive gaze.

Cheerfully waving a blood culture bottle I've just taken out of the cupboard in front of his face, I tell him in my most casual voice: "No, I'm perfectly fine now although our APAH addiction is worse than I've thought. Why don't you just roll up your sleeves and give me your blood so that I can analyze the results this afternoon?"

Throwing me another piercing glance before looking away, Kudo doesn't say anything in reply but lets me measure his blood pressure and take his blood in silence. As I need to give my undivided attention to the few simple tasks which, in another situation, would have seemed to me easier than solving a first-grader's homework, I'm grateful for Kudo's consideration. His blood pressure is unusually high, which worries me because he had low blood pressure the last time I checked. But as I don't want to appear paranoid (and because, perceptive as he always is, he must have noticed it himself), I decide not to mention his high blood pressure to him.

"Beautiful flower," Kudo huskily remarks after we are finished and I've removed the blood culture bottles from our sight. "And the colour is extremely rare. As far as I know, there is only one little flower shop in Azabu Juuban where you can find a rose of this size and colour without ordering it beforehand."

"I just bought it there," I lie, as there is no way I can tell him the truth without making it sound like I just came home from a one-night stand.

"How much does it cost?" he inquires without looking at me. As I already feared, he is interested in every little random detail whenever he is not engrossed in a case.

I don't know. I've forgotten, I shrug. This time, it wasn't even a lie because, preoccupied with the devastating truth I had learned from Two Lights about Kakyuu and their parents, I didn't pay attention to the price.

Slouching on the sofa with an expression of deep mistrust on his face (he usually never slouches, and I can't figure out why he is doing it now), Kudo shoots me a rare dark look and gloomily devours about fifteen to twenty new capsules of APAH, downing a whole glass of water in the process. Absorbed in his own train of thought, he has simply poured himself water into my glass instead of taking a new glass out of the cupboard. If my eyes are not playing a trick on me, I can also tell that his hand is shaking slightly as he gingerly puts down the empty water glass. For reasons I cannot guess, he is simmering with anger and suffering from a new migraine attack himself although he looked relaxed and refreshed, almost exuberant, a few minutes ago.

"You know, your headaches can't be blamed on my antidote alone," I observe. "They also stem from your lack of sleep and your general abuse of your body. I know you think you have superpowers but the truth is that you're seriously overworked. At this rate you will die before you're forty. You should really try to take things easy once in a while."

Much to my surprise, Kudo completely ignores me, takes the rose between his thumb and index finger and begins to inspect it with a grim expression on his face as if it were a venomous insect a murderer has misused as a weapon.

"I didn't know you're that interested in flowers," I remark, stupefied by his action.

"I'm very much interested in this one," he calmly turns the flower in his hand to inspect it from any possible angle. "A half-bloomed lavender thornless rose with a very pleasant scent. Does it mean something in the language of flowers? What's its name?"

Contrary to his neutral words, his voice is conspicuously cool, with a razor-sharp edge, as if he were interrogating me and I were the number-one suspect of his latest case.

"I don't know," I truthfully reply. "I chose it because I liked the colour." The last statement was a lie because it wasn't me who chose it but Seiya who spotted it when we passed the flower shop. Fidgeting with the small key in my pocket which is continually poking at my leg as if it wanted to remind me of its existence, I wonder whether calling him by his scandal-ridden name will make it easier for me to forget the way his thumbs brushed against my cheeks when he told me to wait for him outside because he had — so he claimed — just found the perfect flower for me...

"Do you know the sad thing about lavender roses?" Kudo continues in a matter-of-fact voice. "As stunning as they look, they're not very winter hardy. Growing them is a pain because they're so fragile and susceptible to diseases. Maybe you want to buy one for your vase once in a while because you like their scent or their looks." He scowls at the flower with a feverish gleam in his eyes. "But they aren't something you would want to grow in your own garden. In the long run, they are so high maintenance and so expensive that you will discover that they are not really worth it—"

"You know, I think it's you who needs a rest," I impatiently interrupt his lunatic ramblings, convinced that he must have taken too much APAH and has lost it completely. "You're so out of character it's disturbing. Or maybe it's the hunger." With a pang of guilt, I begin to unpack the gyoza. "Look, I've brought us breakfast."

"I've slept about seven hours," he remarks, gently taking my hand from the gyoza box. Looking up at him in surprise, I'm once again struck by the peculiar intensity of his gaze when it hits me that he must have deduced more than I want him to know. "Much longer than you, I bet," he calmly continues without letting go of my hand. "Where have you been? Who have you been with? And what have you done?"

I blink at him, taken aback by the suppressed fury in his voice. He is absolutely livid, and I don't know why, as he has never shown that much interest in my love life before.

"Rubbing shoulders with three celebrities," I free myself from his grasp while wondering at the same time why I actually bother to give him answers to his questions. "Since you were asleep and I was bored, I decided to go out for a while and have a look at Two Lights'."

"Are you sure that it was three?" he coolly asks, removing a black hair from my dress. "I would recognize this scent everywhere. Since it's a personalized perfume, it's unlikely that my guess is wrong. If I had time, I could write a dissertation on how you usually iron your dress because you're very particular about it. I can tell at first glance that it was someone else who did it this time because it looks conspicuously different, much more amateurish, I must say. It has also shrunk a bit after he washed and dried it, hasn't it? Or have you gained weight so fast that it seems smaller to me than it was yesterday?"

"A few centuries ago, you would have been burned," I nonchalantly comment in answer to his challenging gaze.

For a moment, his face falls, and he looks vulnerable, almost broken, before he victoriously adds with his usual smugness: "Although you've tried to comb it, your hair is completely tousled and slightly curly, making me wonder whether it was really you who blow-dried it. I think that, while you might have met three celebrities, you spent last night in the immediate vicinity of only one of them. And the fact that you ended up taking a shower at his place and letting him dry your hair really throws me. You've never been the type to seek out one-night stands..." His voice trails off, and he turns away from me to stroll to the balcony door before he quietly continues: "Hence I deduce this has been going on for quite a while although I can't tell why you lied at me yesterday and pretended not to know him when we talked. As usual, I couldn't tell that you were lying because your acting skills are disturbingly good. You should really make a living out of them after finishing your studies."

"It's not like that," I lean back into my armchair with a sigh. "Since parts of your deductions are completely wrong, I'm afraid you've really lost your touch."

At times like this, his uncanny deduction skills are less of a blessing and more of a curse, and I can feel my headaches returning with a vengeance because I seriously don't know how to explain the events of last night and this morning to him. But then I feel anger surging inside me because there is no logical reason why I should justify myself to him and why I should even care what he thinks about it. It is me who is suffering at the moment. Kudo should give me a break instead of showing off his deduction skills and interrogating me as if I were a wayward kid and he were my guardian.

"Really? Which parts of my deductions are wrong? Tell me... Why didn't you at least wake me up and send me home if you were so attached to him that you couldn't stay away from him for even one night?" Kudo — who is still turning his back on me — continues in a voice which could have frozen Infinity during the fire. "Besides, your landlady mistook me for your boyfriend when she came to borrow your scissors this morning... I fear I've created unnecessary misunderstandings. But I don't get why you couldn't simply wake me up and ask me to go home if you absolutely had to see him..."

Oddly enough, he is behaving like a spoiled little kid who is angry at the realization that his playmates have a secret they won't share with him. And while I don't understand what's wrong with him and why he suddenly jumps to conclusions (as he usually never jumps to conclusions), the fact that my busybody of a landlady has found him in my apartment this morning disturbs me enough to distract me from his petulant behaviour.

"You opened the door for her although I wasn't present?" I look at him aghast. "Couldn't you have stayed inside and waited until she has given up?"

The ringing was so obstinate that he thought it was "something important," he explains, and I must admit that (since Kudo is accustomed to having people drop dead around him on a regular basis) it is only natural that he would expect to encounter a new case at any time. From the things my landlady said, Kudo infers that she already saw him last night in front of the garden although he is surprised he didn't see her. Even though he tried, he couldn't quite convince her that we are only old friends, he apologetically adds.

"But maybe it doesn't matter because she thinks we two are a nice couple." He sounds almost nostalgic, which must be a misinterpretation of my ears.

In the darkness, my landlady must have mistaken Kudo and Seiya for the same person — a realization which immediately calms me down, as absurd as it sounds. Having one male visitor at night is something I can still get away with. Having two would have complicated my life because my landlady doesn't only belong to the nosy but also the conservative type who doesn't tolerate such kind of escapades from her tenants and who is also never too shy or too considerate to voice her opinion.

"So, how long have the two of you been seeing each other?" Kudo nervously taps his fingers on the window glass. "And why did you tell me you didn't know him when we talked about him yesterday?"

Squinting against the bright light from the window to frown at his white figure as he is leaning against the door frame, I'm momentarily distracted by the clear azure sky which looks as if it belonged on one of Kaioh-san's watercolours while she was in her expressionist phase. Resigned, I come to the obvious conclusion that it is impossible to explain the happenings of last night to Kudo in this kind of weather.

"I really didn't know him yesterday," I decide to tell Kudo the truth nonetheless. "Or at least I didn't know that it was him. He hid his ponytail beneath his jacket so that I couldn't even guess—"

"So the stranger who told you the ghost story was him?" Kudo abruptly turns round to shoot me a disbelieving look. "I should have known it when you mentioned his voice. How many times did you see him since yesterday's twilight?"

"Two, or three times, I'm not sure... It depends on how you count. I was on the balcony when I saw him walking down the streets, and since he asked me out for a drink at Two Lights', I—"

"I warned you," Kudo snaps at me in a sudden outburst. "I told you he was extremely interested in you. I thought it was enough of a warning."

"For your information, I'm neither your daughter nor your girlfriend," I snap back, tired of his childish antics. "I don't know why you behave like an overprotective father or a jealous boyfriend out of a sudden."

"I'm only worried about you," he returns to the sofa to eye me with professional interest. "What has he done to you to make you cry like that? If I had known it was him who told you the ghost story, I would have informed you about his reputation."

"He hasn't done anything. I told you I had a migraine attack." I hold my head in despair as I'm assailed by the memories of the past hours. Leaving the armchair for the bar where I continue to unwrap the gyoza box, I grope for words in an attempt to clear up the confusion. "I think you've completely misunderstood. It's not a one-night stand gone wrong although it certainly looks like that. You must know I'm not into such things." Smirking at him, I add in jest: "And he is actually a clueless late bloomer. Much more innocent than you, actually." At least until a few hours ago, I mentally add, feeling my stomach drop at the thought.

"So I misunderstood?" Kudo looks almost hopeful when he throws a glance at my sandals in the corridor. "You were caught in the rain when you went out last night. But why did you shower at his place? Why didn't you just come home when it started raining?"

_This_ — I could hear Taiki-san's voice nagging at his little brother when I was in the bathroom — _is the most clichéd thing which could have happened. As an actor, you should have known that this happens in every movie or novel when the main couple gets drenched and needs to get changed somewhere. If you weren't such a naive idiot, you would have known that she had intended to seduce you right from the start. Nobody else could have fallen for her ridiculous claim that she didn't know who you are. Your face is everywhere it's impossible not to know it. It wouldn't surprise me if she turns out to be one of your mad groupies. Come to think of it, Yaten says something is seriously wrong about her although he doesn't know what it is._

"I don't know," I murmur, for once trying to tell the honest truth. Why did I accept a stranger's offer to shower at his apartment? Didn't I know exactly what could happen if two people like us were alone with each other? In retrospect, it seems to me as if the intention has been hiding in a dark corner of my mind since the first time we met. But isn't this how love always starts? When we begin to believe that fate has brought us together and torn us apart and that the seemingly random coincidences were all parts of an invisible chain.

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**AN: **This update was for "Ghost at Twilight" again just because I've finished this chapter earlier than expected. :)


	34. It is not like I've never

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**It is not like I've never...**

It is not like I've never heard of them before, these improbable and eerie stories about two people getting struck by love at first (or second or third) sight and planning to stay with each other for life without caring the least about the sheer insurmountable difficulty of the task. But the protagonists of those stories always struck me as being somewhat undiscriminating in the choice of the subject of their so-called 'love'. And if anyone had asked me whether I could imagine the same thing happening to me at any time of my life, I would have replied with conviction that, no, Miyano Shiho is not reckless enough to dash headlong into heartbreak and not foolish enough to contemplate building a future with a person she doesn't really know!

Yet here I am, utterly miserable and racked with regret after leaving a man I would undoubtedly have spent my life with if it hadn't been for his and my past. Contrary to my expectations, the thought that ending it after one night precludes the agony of having it crashing down on us after four or five years of cohabitation is no consolation to me at all now that I've broken it up. Accepting Kudo's water glass and APAH capsules with the resignation of a drug addict who has given up on therapy, I try to think of a sensible solution of what to do about the key in my pocket. Keep it, throw it away, send it back to him per post, go back to his apartment and shove the key under his doormat, ring him out of his apartment under the pretense of returning the key and kiss him again...

The obnoxious ringing of my doorbell startles me out of my hopeless contemplations, and it takes me a moment to deduce that my landlady must be trying to return the scissors she has borrowed in her sneaky attempt to get a good look at my overnight visitor.

"Your landlady," Kudo points out the obvious and asks when he notices my reluctance: "Don't you want your scissors back?"

"I don't want to listen to her ramblings right now. Just let her ring. She will think that we've gone out."

"She could wait downstairs and waylay us when we go out for lunch," Kudo predicts. "I think it's better to open the door for her and get over it now than to run into her later."

He is right, as always, and I grudgingly relent although I still refuse to see my landlady.

"Since you've given her my scissors, _you_ open the door for her. Just tell her I'm having a migraine and have gone to bed." I proceed to devour the APAH capsules in my hands while Kudo stalks to the door with the air of an exhausted husband who has been disturbed by the same door-to-door sales person for the third time in a row. From the living room, I can hear my landlady chirping about how thankful she is that Kudo has lent her my scissors because she had misplaced hers. But just when I think that she has left after Kudo's "It doesn't matter" and "Have a nice day," she lets out an indignant, earsplitting howl which makes me jump.

"How could you put such a gorgeous lavender rose into a normal water glass?" She gasps, leaping towards the bar to admire my rose while Kudo, who is now standing behind my armchair, gives me a faintly amused grin.

"The vases are all in the closet so that they don't gather dust," he taunts, whereupon I fight the unhealthy urge to strangle him in front of a witness by giving him a sickeningly sweet smile.

"What a shame because you have an absolutely wonderful specimen here, as blue as a rose can be without a dye!" My landlady bubbles over with excitement. "It's even in the same shade of lavender as the colour of your dress." With a sidelong glance at Kudo, she mutters under her breath: "Your boyfriend is very attentive and romantic. It's extremely rare these days now that all the young people have become so jaded and cynical."

Young people have such a jaundiced view of life and relationships these days, she suddenly breaks into a rant. It must be the sheltered life and the success and the money. Without hardships, they take all the things they have for granted and quibble about trifles like spoiled little kids. Life, she asserts forcefully, is only worth something when you have nothing and need to fight for it.

Wondering whether she has ever had to fight for her life, I quickly take the scissors out of her hand for fear that, if she stays any longer, she might get the idea of making herself comfortable on my sofa. While I don't mind chatting with her from time to time and even find her quite amiable on normal days, today her presence alone is enough to make my blood boil.

"Where have you found it?" she turns to Kudo with her fingers still resting on the stem of my rose. If it had leaned more towards purple instead of blue — she continues without waiting for an answer — she would have wondered why he had given me a lavender rose although we two have already been going out with each other "for, uh, how long by now? Almost two years?"

Owing to my usual secretiveness about my love life (I've been rather vague whenever she asked me how the charming young man she once found on my sofa was doing) she has mistaken Kudo for Kaito and believes that we two had never broken up during the past two years. For a split second, I can see on Kudo's face that he wisely considers leaving her in the mistaken belief that he is my longtime boyfriend and that he has bought me the flower. But then his innate curiosity triumphs over his (usually non-existent) sense of tact.

"It's not from me but from another man she is dating at the moment," he tells her in misplaced honesty. "But what does a lavender rose mean?"

Lavender roses, especially pale lavender roses, are usually given to a love interest before or at the beginning of a romantic relationship as an expression of enchantment and love at first sight, she explains, darting puzzled glances at Kudo and me alternately. However, as this special flower is of a very blue shade, one could interpret it as a symbol of the mysterious and the unattainable.

But "unattainable" has a connotation of finality I can't accept, I realize in dismay. It is almost as if time has rewound so that I'm sitting at the window of the small café once again, watching the restaurant on the other side of the street where Ran is waiting for her long-distance boyfriend who, after three years, had finally returned to her.

"At least he is right in that aspect. The way your brain operates is an unsolvable mystery to me," Kudo wryly remarks, whereupon my landlady beams at me with delight because she has mistaken it for a declaration of love.

"Your boyfriend has a very peculiar sense of humour," she whispers into my ear as she leaves. "But it's impossible to be angry at a man who is that good-looking, isn't it? He almost looks like Kudo Shinichi, the famous detective."

"How did you open the door for her this morning?" I grimly ask Kudo after shutting the door behind her. After all, I had locked the door from the outside when I left.

"Tools," he curtly replies, indicating his jacket with a sidelong glance. "I can open your lock within less than ten seconds. You really need to have it replaced with a better one."

"Why should I? It's only a question of time until you crack open the new one as well."

Studying his face to evaluate whether my landlady's effusive praise is justified, I notice for the first time since my return that he has shaved (apparently he even carries a razor in his jacket!) and is looking radiant, especially compared to yesterday.

"My sofa seems to do you good," I observe. "If it weren't so clunky, I'd have considered giving it to your Ran-nee-chan and you as a parting present."

He doesn't answer but only throws me another dark look before he aimlessly walks around and picks up random things (the water bottle, the glass with the rose, the paper tissue box on the table) just to put them down again seconds later.

"You're making me nervous with all that fidgeting," I remark. "Let's have breakfast instead."

"Did you... spend the night with him?" he asks me out of the blue, shocking me with his indiscretion and his ill-timed bluntness. He also appears exhausted again as if asking me that one question has completely drawn his energy.

"Only the second part of it," I calmly take a sip of my water and jokingly add in an attempt to lighten the mood: "The first part of it I spent with you until you fell asleep. Do you remember it now?"

"You know exactly what I mean," he obstinately insists, stopping at the sofa to fix his intent gaze inquiringly on me. Noticing that his insatiable curiosity is a pest which I can't avoid by being evasive because I would only fuel it, I decide to chide him for it instead: Yes, but it really doesn't have anything to do with you. As I said, I'm perfectly fine with it. Even if you're bored, don't turn this into a case unless you want me to tell your pretty karate champion that you almost cheated on her with me once. She will break every single bone in your body before you can count to ten...

To my bewilderment, I can talk about our history with ease now that I'm too preoccupied with another equally disastrous love to fret about our past. Closing the distance between us, Kudo silently takes a few strands of my hair into his hand while his eyes are glued to my lips with an intensity I find most unsettling.

"You said I've misunderstood because it's not an one-night stand gone wrong... So you actually meant you're going to continue seeing him?" He abruptly lets go of my hair and turns his attention to the gyoza. "Did he tell you to bring me breakfast? Or is the food from Taiki?" While he is trying to keep his voice down, he looks as if he is going to break into hysterical laughter at any moment.

"What's so funny about that?" I testily ask, hurt by his open contempt. "It's not like he only wanted to hook up for a night to kill time. Even if you can't believe it, we're actually serious about each other." Realizing that telling Kudo our relationship is already over would greatly complicate matters because I can't tell him the reasons, I prefer to let him in the belief that Seiya and I are still going out with each other until he leaves for Osaka.

"You're usually prudent and prefer to take things slow," Kudo coolly remarks, walks over to the bar, settles on the bar stool directly in front of the rose and gazes down on me in disapproval. "This... carpe diem mentality... doesn't suit you at all. He is a disastrous influence on you."

Due to my usual reticence and his own naiveté, Kudo seems to have a rather docile mental image of me I have to destroy because I'm sick of comparing myself with the pure and chaste ideal of a woman he has grown up with. "Don't you know that our society still wants all women to be perfect angels so that they can be conquered by their great and irresistible husbands in their wedding night?" I remember lecturing Seiya when he asked me in stupefaction why I refused to come out and greet his foster brothers. In response (and much to my delight), he only chuckled and told me between two kisses that he had finally realized why people indulge in extramarital affairs because no one in their right mind can really enjoy making love to a cold angel.

"On the contrary, it seems I'm a disastrous influence on him," I smile at the remembrance. "But since it wasn't with no strings attached, I'm positive he didn't mind it a bit."

"Even with strings attached, I don't think this is a good idea," Kudo slowly shakes his head. "You two don't have anything in common. This will never work out."

For a moment, I'm speechless.

"Why are you trying to talk me out of it?" I spring up from my armchair and angrily occupy the bar stool next to him. "Not everyone can start as childhood friends and needs to rip off flower petals for over ten years to know that their feelings are real." Placing my water glass beside my flower, I mournfully watch the distorted reflection of the lavender petals in the water and the light delicately refracted by the blue-tinted glass. "This is the first time in years that I've felt a real connection to somebody..." My voice dies out, and I stop because I don't want to continue rubbing salt into my own wounds.

"He is not for you," Kudo firmly insists. "I'm only telling you my honest opinion because I'm worried. Didn't you tell me you wanted a perfectly normal nice husband? He is the complete opposite."

"I remember _you_ were the one who said that it would be dull and that such a husband would bore me to death," I take a new glass for him out of the cupboard as he has just poured himself water into my glass again. Throwing a puzzled glance at his gloomy face, I jokingly add: "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you look really heartbroken over this. Don't you think that throwing a tantrum just because I left you alone for a few hours makes you look like a spoiled kid?" I'm not aware of having done anything wrong. After all, I did come back in time for the tests, I did leave him a note, and I did take my phone with me so that he could reach me.

Since he only stares into his empty glass and doesn't react, I decide to take it up a notch to lure him out of his reserve. "Or are you a bit jealous because I just got myself a new boyfriend without warning you beforehand?" I ask, preparing myself to say "Just kidding!" the moment he begins to stutter a reply.

"A little bit," he says to my astonishment, as this was the last answer I'd have expected to hear from him, "but not really." He turns to me, crosses his legs and begins to bounce his upper leg with his usual exasperating confidence. "After all... Isn't this the same as last time? You either stand me up or get yourself a new boyfriend every time we meet. One could almost think it has something to do with me, as silly as it sounds." Pushing the glass with the rose between us aside, he softly asks me with straightforwardness which, if it hadn't been for the hint of sadness in his voice, would have bordered on impertinence: "Am I right?"

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**Irrational as it sounds...**

Irrational as it sounds, it seems to me that Kudo is dead right and that everything which happened since last night is connected to him because I would never have gone out with a stranger at night and broken up a relationship after a few hours if it hadn't been for Kudo and his influence on me. But since the theory is too depressing to be dwelled on any further, I push it away from me and turn my attention to the other thought which is now uppermost in my mind.

"It's not the same as last time," I begin, wondering how to explain to Kudo that "this time" doesn't in the least feel like "that time" to me.

"No?" Kudo glumly pokes at the half-unwrapped gyoza box. "Last time it was Kuroba and this time it's the same type of guy again. You have a certain weakness for men who are absolutely no husband material."

Perplexed though somewhat pleasantly surprised by his talkativeness, I recall that he seemed strangely happy after seven hours of sleep and that, even though he is in a rotten mood at present, he is much more open and accessible than he was yesterday.

"Why were you in such a good mood this morning?" I ask him with mistrust, knowing that he is not a morning person. "Is it only because you're well rested? Or did you have a particularly pleasant dream last night?"

"I've come to terms with Osaka," he smiles. He wanted to tell me about it when I came home.

Despite myself, it is hard for me focus on his words because it has just struck me why "this time" is not like "last time" at all...

"Fine," I distractedly comment. "Your Ran-nee-chan will be thrilled when she learns about it tonight. After all, she wouldn't be able to enjoy herself in Osaka if she felt that you didn't really want to go with her."

...Last time was like a short pleasant fantasy which couldn't last, but no matter how charming and lovable Kaito was, losing him didn't feel like having my whole world crashing down on me. In spite of all the magic tricks and romantic dates in zoos and parks and cuddling on the sofa and lingering kisses in the moonlight, there were no excessively sentimental feelings or dramatic breakdowns after it ended. I wasn't haunted by the way how he touched my cheek or how his eyes slowly opened to look at me, unfocused until the first flicker of recognition stole into them and he gave me his perfectly blissful smile assuring me that, for someone in this world, I could be a source of happiness instead of pain.

_She has the aura of an unlucky charm_ — Yaten-san has claimed. _It's natural that she thinks she loves you since all depressed people are drawn to you like the moth to the flame. They all try to throw themselves at you and live off you like bloodsucking vampires. And when they're done they'll throw you away as if you had never been more than a nice shiny toy for them. It was almost the same with Chiba-san, wasn't it, with the only difference that she wasn't such a loose girl? She literally fell into your arms because she was neglected by her clueless boyfriend. But when her beloved "Mamo-chan" returned from Oxford, she simply dumped you and ran back into his arms again._

"Concerning our previous topic, this time is not like the last time at all," I tell Kudo in a conspiratorial voice. "He is actually the only man I've ever allowed to iron my dress." The remark which was supposed to be a joke sounds shockingly candid to my own ears, and Kudo gives me a blank look asking me to elaborate on the reasons as to why I let Seiya iron my favourite dress although I've always been somewhat fastidious even when I was posing as the Professor's little girl.

"Well..." In answer to Kudo's silent question, I helplessly grope for words. "I don't know why but he stirs all these... emotions... in me." I trail off, shuddering at the ruthless honesty in my voice. If I hadn't wept so much after my return that my tears have completely dried up, I would go to bed and continue to cry about this disproportionate revenge of fate which has come so late that it might as well have come from _that person _himself who even Gin — his most loyal crow — had described as petty and spiteful.

"You can't imagine how scary such a confession sounds when it comes from your mouth," Kudo leaves the bar, sinks into my armchair and drops his head into the cup of his hands. If he weren't so motionless, I would think that he is laughing about the situation.

"This is even worse than I've thought," he sighs instead, keeping his palms over his eyes so that I can't guess whether he is on the brink of laughter or whether he is just fighting his migraine. "You're completely out of your mind. Let's calm down a bit and assess the situation before you slip into a serious relationship with a guy like him."

"A guy like him? He's perfectly decent and harmless. It's not like he has forced me into anything."

"You've just met him, Ai!" Kudo looks up to shoot me an irritated look from his bloodshot eyes.

"So what?" I burst out before I note to my amusement that he has accidentally called me Ai again. "Even I succumb to these nasty neurotransmitters once in a while. Don't pretend that you were less ridiculous when you were moaning about the permanent antidote so that you could properly declare your undying love to your angel in that posh restaurant without having to crane your neck to see her reaction."

"I've known Ran for all my life while you've known him for a few hours," he coldly retorts. "One can't really have anything which could even be called 'a relationship' in such a short time."

"That kind of 'relationship' needs to start at some point," I shrug. "It's not like we wanted to stare into each other's eyes forever before making a move. The older one gets, the faster things happen."

"Not at this speed if you try to look at it from a more sensible point of view. You only don't see how rushed this is because you're completely besotted. He should have taken it slow as well, but considering his reputation, it's—"

"Stop being such a prig, will you?"

Seeing Kudo's crestfallen face as he laconically mutters an apology, my anger subsides, and I walk to him to curl up on the sofa so that we are now sitting with each other in stony silence, lost in thought until he gets up and fetches us the water bottle and our glasses from the bar.

"Maybe I'm only paranoid because of all the scandals I've heard," Kudo gives my arm a conciliatory pat before he sits down next to me. "But one usually doesn't get that kind of reputation without a reason." In a more cheerful tone, he adds as an afterthought: "I can look into it for you if you want. Let's find out whether he is really so clueless and harmless as you think or whether he has been lying at you all along."

"Even if he had been lying about it, his reputation or past affairs would be the last things I care about at the moment," I give a desperate little chuckle, wondering when my nerves are going to fail me completely. Perhaps there is a grain of truth in the accepted notion that, once you've really cracked up completely and given up on your life, you will repeatedly crack up again during times when the sheer act of being alive seems to much of an ordeal. I can still remember the first time it happened, when I read the newspaper article featuring the outcome of the "One Billion Yen Robbery" over and over again and the truth slowly dawned on me that, in this world, there is nothing which justifies the compulsion to be nice and good. History is written by survivals. Justice is a human construct. Morality is a fancy thing for the people who can afford it. The rules of the game are always made by the ones who have won and not the ones who have lost. And when success and "the community" are the only things which count, no one really cares for "collateral damage" that got trampled on...

"You know, I would never have expected you to cry because of a man," Kudo's voice takes on an edge of suspicion, and I can feel myself stiffen under his searching gaze.

"Love brings out our most sentimental and vulnerable side," I give him a playful smirk. "At least it seems to bring out mine."

"I don't know what _your_ notion of love is," he knits his brows. "But I've seldom seen you so unhappy. Do you want to tell me what really happened?"

Naturally, I don't want to. And even if I wanted to, I wouldn't know where to start.

"Nothing happened except that I can't stand Shortie and Stick and they openly despise me. Apart from that, he is going to return to the stage soon. I'm sure I will hate his friends, I will hate his fans, I will hate his job, and I bet I will hate his agent as well although I haven't met her yet. From what I've heard of her, I think she will hate me just as much as Shortie does. They're all passionately in love with him and fiercely jealous of me..."

Unleashing a torrent of rants on Kudo's sympathetic ears, I try to remember all the lame excuses I have conjured up for myself in an effort to lessen my regrets à la "The Fox and the Grapes" when I broke up a perfectly functional relationship because I'm convinced that what we've gone through in the past teaches us about what we can anticipate in the future. But was it really right to leave him for the sake of keeping the memories of last night intact? Or should I have stayed because, if I hadn't been a coward and hadn't feared the day his love will turn into hatred so much that I bailed, it could have worked out between us?

"See, you can't even imagine how a life with him will be," Kudo tentatively starts.

"Oh, but I can imagine it perfectly. I'm going to elope with him to some stereotyped city of love, Paris or Venice or Rome or even better: to some isle where no one... well, no one apart from you, Sherlock... will ever find us."

"Paris?" Kudo sharply asks.

"No, maybe not Paris," I admit with a twinge of guilt, avoiding his disbelieving gaze whose underlying despair confuses me. Certainly not Venice either, I mentally add. But where is the place where no phone call and no mail will ever be able to inform Seiya about his girlfriend's past? And even if it were possible to flee from his friends and acquaintances, it would still be impossible for me to flee from myself. Breaking it up was undoubtedly the most sensible decision under these circumstances, but doing "the right thing" once again turned out to be unbearable.

_There is no excuse for not doing the right thing,_ Kudo once said in Paris, leaning against the railing of the moonlit veranda after our quite hilarious attempt at dancing. There are always sacrifices one needs to make and risks one needs to take to achieve one's goals. But from a moral point of view, it is of primary importance that the people who risk their lives are doing it of their own accord. _I can risk my life but not yours. If you're not sure that coming with Hattori and me is really what you want, please give me the key and stay with the Professor in Tokyo._

_But what would you do if doing the morally "wrong" thing would produce the outcome you want while doing the morally "right" thing would ruin your life and the people close to you,_ Kaioh-san has asked you after you refused her offer to get you and your sister out of the Organization in exchange for Pandora's Box. In certain circumstances, there is no other way out. So, what are you going to choose when the price for achieving your goals is guilt while the price for choosing the morally right path is sorrow?

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**A.N.:** Who is still following this depressing story? I remember I started to write it because I wanted to write a mystery in which the mystery plot is hidden behind allusions and a "doubled" romance. As you probably have noticed, the story takes place during twenty-four hours stretched into infinity while the mystery is squeezed into the flashbacks and small snippets of recollections here and there. I've never expected that the fic would be so long, though. In my mind, things always seem so much shorter before I write them down.

lepchaun (if you're still reading this fic): Thanks a lot for the review for Chapter 23. Well, Kudo has finally woken up now, and the two of them are presently having a few "marital problems". XD

Guest reviewer: Thanks a lot for the nice review (for Chapter 31). :) I love both pairings although I torture both of them for the sake of this evil plot in my head. As for "the development", I thought a lot about whether or not they would go so far and think that it would be actually pretty normal for two twenty-somethings with their temperament and in their desperate mood, especially since he is the uninhibited and impulsive type and she is not innocent or shy either (Edit: at least not when she doesn't have to make the first move).


	35. If that's the case, I choose neither

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**"If that's the case, I choose neither..."**

"If that's the case, I choose neither of the two options. Trying to manipulate me won't get you anywhere. Just step aside, will you?"

The first frame of this old movie is a medium closed up shot of a cascade of long turquoise locks spilling in waves over the bare white shoulders of a very young woman. Her ethereal, unworldly beauty assaults the senses of the audience like a spectacular waterfall and, just like a waterfall, leaves them shiver from a cold, unpleasant aftereffect which can be attributed to awe, envy or shame.

At this time of the story, sixteen-year-old Sherry is already in possession of dramatic dark-circled eyes, the same complexion as those of the white mice she regularly kills during her experiments and the desperately optimistic air of a middle-aged woman who has just divorced her thirteenth husband and is now looking forward to marrying husband No. 14. She, or you (as you seem to exist twice again) are also one of the few girls who don't resent Kaioh-san's gorgeous looks or her perfectly happy relationship with her wildly popular ex-motocross-racer turned pianist. Nevertheless, you envy Kaioh-san her freedom to go anywhere she wants and to do whatever she pleases. And with a vague sense of dread, you realize in your most lucid moments that after the past three months of what should have been "marital bliss," the word "marriage" will never carry connotations of romance and love again.

In reaction to your reply, Kaioh Michiru obligingly moves away from the entrance of the aquarium while giving you a sympathetic smile. Her angelic gentleness contrasts so sharply with the suggestion she just made that you can feel your goosebumps raise at the thought that she would dispose of her enemies with the same imperturbable efficiency and grace with which she tunes her violin.

"I think you haven't really grasped the situation you're in," she quietly says as you pass her again at the shark tank. "The FBI is close on Gin's heels. It's only a matter of time until he drags you and your sister down with him."

"I think _you_ haven't grasped the situation I'm in." You watch the whale shark gliding slowly through the opalescent water whose pearly lustre gives the creepy sea creature an undeservingly majestic look. "The Organization feeds me, clothes me, and pays my rent. I've been raised and educated by them and am living with Gin. Accepting your offer would mean to betray all the people who have made me the person I am."

"Not accepting our offer would mean to stay in a burning house until the roof collapses. You're walking into your own downfall with your eyes wide open."

"Going down with my eyes wide open is still better than stabbing the people I owe everything in the back. I could never live with my conscience if I did that. Even sharks like us need to preserve their sense of dignity."

"It's easy to sacrifice oneself for one's sense of dignity, isn't it?" Kaioh-san's voice seems to drop a few degrees. "But can you do the same when it comes to your sister?"

"My sister will be fine," you take out your notebook to jot down a few observations you can use in your next experiments. "She has never done anything for the Organization, not even a small 'assignment.' The FBI will take care of her if the Organization falls." Even though you know Rye only used her to approach you at first, you still believe he cares about her enough to protect her from the law.

"I'm sure that's what the seven crows think as well." Kaioh-san tentatively points out. And you abruptly turn to look her in the eye as the pen drags a long ugly streak across the creamy paper.

"I'm their only scientist who can continue my parents' research at the moment," you declare without conviction, hating yourself when your voice quavers and your fingers tremble. Any attempt at dissimulation on your side is at once snuffed out by Kaioh-san's knowing gaze — the reason why you always dislike her a bit although you find her immensely imposing. "They know that I'd stop the research immediately if anything should happen to her."

"Right now," Kaioh says gently, in a low, pleasant drawl. "But how long, do you think, will you stay indispensable?"

As much as you would like to protest, you both know too well that she has a point.

"Let's go to the dolphins to continue our talk," you suggest in resignation. "I can't stand these sharks... They're too much like me."

"There are actually similarities between sharks and dolphins," Kaioh-san elegantly saunters along the tanks on her dancer's feet as if she could defy gravity whenever she pleases. "They are both trying to survive by adapting to the world they've been born into. Those who can't adjust always die out when the environment changes. You will perish in an environment you can't adapt to no matter whether you're a shark or a dolphin."

"No, they aren't the same," you give a wan laugh. "If I could choose, I'd rather be a dolphin."

"There is nothing wrong about being a shark," interjects Tenoh Haruka, who, after shaking off the man she addresses as "Jean," has just returned to join Kaioh-san and you. "They're sensitive and independent creatures who die in confinement." Giving you a suggestive wink, she wraps her arm around her girlfriend's bare shoulders and publicly pecks her on her temple. "Sorry for taking so long, Michiru."

"But there is a huge difference in how they are treated by humans," you counter while inwardly congratulating yourself for your recovered mental balance. "Sharks are feared and hated while dolphins are loved."

"So, do you prefer to be feared and hated and be free or to stay in confinement, be other people's pretty little puppet, and be 'loved'?" Tenoh-san asks, letting go of Kaioh-san to usher you away from the shark hall towards the dark tunnel tank.

Notwithstanding Tenoh-san's harsh and obnoxious manner, resisting Tenoh-san has always been harder for you than resisting Kaioh-san, a fact which you don't ascribe to Tenoh-san's attractiveness but to your secret admiration of her unconquerable spirit and her tremendous courage. Always the one who leads and never the one who follows no matter whether she is on the track or in the concert hall, Tenoh-san possesses the type of charm which makes it hard for other people to dislike her even when her will to exert influence on others regularly crosses the border between goodwill and presumptuousness.

Have you ever thought of the possibility that it is less dangerous to leave than to stay, she continues as you remain silent. Gin already had to defend himself at Pandora's Box once because he went overboard in giving a fellow crow a red card. Apart from that, Gin has also been targeted by the FBI owing to his connection to you. "I wonder what will happen when your boyfriend finally makes a serious mistake and the Seven Crows need to get rid of him. As his live-in girlfriend, you know too much. You'll be the first one they go for after finishing Gin."

Smiling away a tug of guilt at the thought that Gin would never have been officially rebuked if it hadn't been for your clumsy attempt to help the red-haired girl, you resume walking while putting your pen and your notebook back into your handbag.

"So you want to say you're interested in my safety?" you sling your bag over your shoulder with studied nonchalance. "Assuming that I can give you the key to Pandora's Box — what I can't! — what, do you propose, shall we do next to die as heroes without digging the grave for everyone near us? Getting blown up with the files after scattering the information all over the internet?"

No, she says. We're going to sail the ship away from the isle, deactivate Pandora's Box using a scapegoat — for example the brainless secretary of your boyfriend is the perfect choice for the part!— and escape on a boat with the backup of the files, leaving the dope behind in the middle of the sea with the time bombs and a bit of alcohol to drink his worries away.

"Before that, we naturally need to eliminate the Boss and the Seven Crows with the help of your undetectable poison," she adds as an afterthought. Seeing your reaction, she smiles and shrugs. "I admit it sounds radical but I think it's the only option. Drastic times call for drastic measures. We're dealing with extreme circumstances. And that's what we do to fanatics because it's no use trying to talk sense into them."

"In other words, you suggest that I let you 'eliminate' my boyfriend and the people who raised me in exchange for my freedom."

"For your freedom and your sister's freedom," she corrects you. "I'm sure Gin and all the other 'people who raised you' wouldn't hesitate to burn you alive for the sake of the Organization." Exchanging a glance with Kaioh-san, who has just clasped her proprietorial hands around her upper arm, she adds: "Have you already forgotten what Gin did to you last month in the lab just because he found out about your date with your sister's boyfriend?"

"We only talked," you wearily cross to the dolphin pool in search of your seat for the show. "Rye only tried to get information on my research." A quick glance at your watch shows you that Gin, being the paragon of punctuality he is, will join you in exactly twelve minutes.

"Which was enough for Gin to 'punish' you in those handcuffs," Tenoh-san follows you with Kaioh-san in tow, talking to you with such intensity that a bystander would have misunderstood the dynamic between you three if someone had cut the sound out. "And you'd have stayed in the basement over the weekend, drinking sherry, singing drunken songs and wetting your pants if I hadn't found you."

"Listen, I really appreciate that you picked that lock for me," you frown, "but I'm not going to help anyone 'eliminate' the man I spend all my nights with no matter how nasty he can be at times. Even if he were always such a monster — which he isn't — I would never do it. There is something like loyalty."

"Loyalty?" Tenoh-san narrows her eyes. "Koneko-chan, you're kidding me!"

"Yes, loyalty. Or maybe it's love." You try a laugh. "Hasn't it ever occurred to you that I actually love Gin?"

"What people call love is in most cases only a lucky combination of lust and narcissism. You don't look as if you're very much in love with him."

"You don't need to believe me but I do care for him."

"I thought you care for your sister." Tenoh-san eagerly bends over your seat as if the two of you were about to kiss, unknowingly drawing the attention of other people in the vicinity with her gesture. "Setsuna-san told me you meet up with your sister once a month at Tsukino-san's café and that you two absolutely adore each other."

"You out of all people should know that it's possible to care for more than one person at the same time," you remark with deliberate viciousness as you don't like the way Tenoh-san and Kaioh-san drag your sister into the discussion.

"You can't love two people at the same time if those feelings are mutually exclusive," Tenoh-san retorts without batting an eyelid. "Are you really aware of what you're doing? You're choosing him over her."

"I'm not choosing anyone," you defiantly fold your arms. "As I already told your girlfriend, I absolutely object to emotional blackmail."

"I see you're choosing the easy way out," Tenoh-san coolly straightens herself. "One day, you'll live to regret that you haven't grabbed the chance to make your choice instead of letting life decide over the outcome for you."

"Why are you so sure—"

"I know the type," she firmly grips the back of your seat while Kaioh-san seizes her free hand as if she is about to draw her away. "If your sister and you threaten to harm the Organization, Gin won't hesitate to execute you both. Even if nothing happens, I can't see a future for you two." The more clingy he gets, the more you like to flirt with danger, as evidenced by what happened last month, she asserts. "You can't live with a husband who brings out the worst in you."

Gin will appear in a few minutes, you distractedly think to yourself while fighting your growing sense of panic. You need to get rid of the fairytale couple before he notices their interest in you, misinterprets it (or worse: correctly interprets it) and handcuffs you to the heater again.

"You know I could tell Gin about our conversation, right?" you ask Tenoh-san in a dismissive voice and turn your attention to the pool. "Without Pandora's Box, you can't do anything to the Organization. It would take them only a few days to eliminate your whole group."

"Maybe," Tenoh-san chuckles, giving you an unexpected warm smile which reaches her eyes. "But you probably noticed that I know about your sister although you've never introduced her to me... And I can assure you that I'm not the forgiving type."

"I see you're not that much different from the crows you despise," you return her smile and behold her fine features with a deep sense of sadness, lingering for a moment on her perfectly shaped ear and her simple gold earring. You've learned the hard way that roses usually have thorns and that beauty cannot be trusted. Apart from a few rare exceptions like Akemi-nee-san, all the beautiful people you know are essentially cruel and selfish, willing to swim through a sea of blood to reach their ultimate goal.

"Really?" Tenoh-san's smile doesn't waver although a wistful expression has stolen into her eyes. "If I were like them, I wouldn't ask you at all but simply make you give us the key in exchange for your sister's life. I'm sure I'm not the only one who noticed how easy it is to use her to get you after the thing with Rye. Please think about it again and consider the consequences before you pass up the chance of a lifetime."

The scene fades out as the couple slides out of your view while the hall is rapidly filled with anonymous faces of strangers — men, women, children, toddlers, babies — who have come to watch the ever-smiling dolphins perform the same tricks as yesterday and the day before yesterday. Taking a few deep breaths and straightening your dress, you anticipate Gin's arrival in five minutes with renewed optimism. Neither Tenoh-san nor Kaioh-san has guessed the second reason why you insist on staying with a man you can no longer love. And before you've accumulated at least one billion yen on your private saving account, you're not going to tell anyone.

It may be a slow, tedious and painful way to freedom but the only one which feels perfectly right. In only four or five years at the latest, you will be able to buy Akemi-nee-san out of the Organization. As you've made your bed and have to lie in it now, you don't feel much pity for yourself even though you sometimes wonder in morbid amusement whether you will end your so-called "marriage" by giving your "husband" your 'undetectable drug.' Many a night you've stayed awake and listened to the sound of his breath, wondering how pleasant the silence would be if the hated sound would magically stop before your dreaded eighteenth birthday. Sometimes you still have muddled feelings for him when you remember his irresistible perfume of last autumn or the childish joy you once felt when his long hair spilled over your hand. But such a phase usually only lasts one or two hours until he pouts about your neglect, complains about your cooking or rants about the Organization's bureaucrats and you're deadly tired of him again.

This, you surmise, is the "love" most people experience. A slow and gradual suffocation after the first phase of infatuation when lovers can no longer maintain the illusions they've had of each other. And yet, when he appears on the dot in his ridiculous coat and his even more ridiculous hat, reeking of the hated cigarettes he chain-smokes and a new overpriced eau de cologne which can't hold a candle to the scent he once used to seduce you, you habitually take his elbow and habitually enjoy the familiar sensation of his kiss. Without a strong incentive, you can't free yourself out of this twisted attachment, and you are certainly not going to betray him for something as elusive as freedom.

Eventually, the anxiety dissipates and you successfully reconcile yourself to the future you've conjured up for yourself and for the two people close to you. You're going to buy Akemi-nee-san a normal life, contribute to humankind's eternal fight against Time by continuing your parents' research, and turn your grumpy, jealous, controlling and abusive assassin-husband into someone moderately pleasant you can share your life with...

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_"She thought she could buy your freedom, the credulous little fool!"_

The little parting remark whose deeper implication you only grasped after Tenoh-san's information on why your sister was executed was also the proverbial last straw which broke the camel's back. In this case, to know or not to know makes all the difference — and it is fascinating how one seemingly unimportant small detail can turn a dead puppy love and fear into implacable hatred...

You're taking this way too personally, says the voice of reason in your head. But when it comes to Gin, you've never felt such overwhelming and urgent desire for love as for revenge.

Six votes for Akemi-nee-san's execution and only one against it, Tenoh-san's informant has said. The seventh crow or "blue-clad biker," as you have dubbed him, was the only one who didn't see any sense in executing an insignificant member like her.

The first time a gun feels disturbingly right in your hand is just as unforgettable as the very first kiss, you think with a smile as you pull the trigger and the bullet once again hits the target with impressive accuracy. Kudo, or Edogawa-kun, is on a trip to Hitachi seaside park with his wife- and in-laws-to-be (the eternal optimist is once again trying to reunite her quarelling parents) and thus won't be back before the week after next. The Professor is away as well, visiting an old friend he has met again somewhere on the internet. Grabbing the chance with both hands, you've asked him to tell the Detective Boys that you're going with him because you "need some alone time to work." Of course it was a whopping great lie because the antidote is long finished and you're here at Tenoh-san's place again, brushing up on your terrific shooting skills as you seriously lack practise even though you are, to quote Gin, "exceptionally gifted."

"I suppose I don't need to tell you the basics like 'don't shoot only once,'" Tenoh-san comments, visibly impressed by your prowess. "I dare say you're a much better shooter than me."

"I had the best of mentor," you smirk as the bullet once again hits the tiny red dot.

"And the best of mentor-student relationship if one can believe the Classical Greek," she jokes, raising her hands apologetically when you — after missing the target in a wave of nausea — groan in exasperation.

"But I see your skills aren't very reliable. Have you ever had a living target?"

"I once shot a dove under instruction before I decided that it was arbitrary killing, and I shot the hat off a woman's head once. I haven't shot anything or anyone since then." You intentionally leave out the bunch of red roses you shot at Kudo with the Professor's toy gun because it is completely irrelevant.

"Then I'll repeat to you again what I've been preaching for the whole week," Tenoh-san sighs, carrying Kaioh-san's easel back to the porch before she returns to join you on the beach with her Beretta. "You don't stand a chance against one crow, let alone six of them with their secretaries and, in a few cases, their sniper-spouses. If they all decide to use the occasion to visit Pandora's Box for a little reunion, it's game over for Kudo and you before you can even draw your weapon."

"Of course I don't plan to shoot them if I can help it. Kudo would never let me use a weapon in that way." You hand her the empty Browning in exchange for the loaded Beretta. "This is just for self-defense in case something happens." Turning to her after another good hit, you sigh. "Don't refuse my offer when what I propose is exactly what you've dreamt of all these years. I know right now you have too much to lose. But I'll take the blame if anything goes wrong. You can step back whenever you want. No one will ever learn that you've assisted me unless you can't keep your own mouth shut."

She doesn't know whether she should be glad or regret that she has told you the truth about your sister's death, Tenoh-san regards you with a slight, nostalgic smile. "You see, koneko-chan... You've changed more in the last years than I expected. But I doubt that you have the right nervous disposition for your grand plans. And if you should really pull this off, I fear that you will bitterly regret it because no one can assure you that the blackmailed people won't come for Kudo and your Professor after eliminating you." With a gentle pressure on your wrist, she pushes your hand holding the Beretta down. "If something should happen to you — or if you commit suicide out of a sudden — Kudo will investigate. He will get into trouble sooner or later because he'll never stop. Offering yourself as the scapegoat won't really solve the problem."

"So, what do you suggest, should I do instead?" you glare at Tenoh-san as she has taken the Beretta out of your hand and casually hit the target at lightning speed over and over again without missing it even once.

"I'm not such a good shooter but I make up for it with speed," she gives you a rare boyish smile and motions you to follow her into the house. "If you can let go of your heroic self-sacrifice and turn your attention to the goal of staying alive, I think I have a much better plan."

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**A.N.:** I remember someone asked me why I used both the first and the second person narration. In this part of the story, I wanted to switch between the past and the present by changing the narrator instead of changing the tense. Hence the experiment with the two narrators. Moreover, I thought it would match Shiho's dual personality.

Thanks a lot to everyone who sacrificed a bit of time to comment and review. :) It helps me a lot to know that a few people are still reading.

Runa: Thanks for reading despite the lack of shipping feels. :) I admit I had to make a few adjustments since sticking to canon too much would have meant no original plot and no Shinichi-Shiho romantic subtext at all. Concerning Shiho's other men, I thought it's only natural since Shinichi has been off limits for a long time. And even in canon Ai always seemed pretty pragmatic and flirtatious to me (for example how she fuels Mitsuhiko's crush on her instead of discouraging him), which is why I thought she wouldn't stay single forever to pine for Shinichi from afar even though she still cares for him.

Raksha: I see you've started to read this fic. :D Alas, life is busy again, which is why I'm trying to update every two weeks now.

saeg: Thanks very much for reviewing both of my stories. I love him as well (although that doesn't prevent me from letting him suffer in my fics. XD)

Enji86: Lol, I don't have the right to tell anyone how to read, and you can skip whatever you want although I'm sure you'll miss half of the mystery if you really skip all the stranger-Shiho interaction.


	36. In one aspect Kudo is

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**In one aspect Kudo is...**

In one aspect Kudo is right: Infatuation must be annoying to watch even when it's still in the exhilarating stage during which the beaming faces of the love-struck victims illuminate their surroundings like the 400-candela Super Bright LED lamps the Professor once installed in our cellar. It goes without saying that detached observers who haven't been infected by the love virus usually wish that the sick ones would finally recover and carry on with their daily lives instead of oscillating perpetually between ecstasy and distress. There are only few things which are more humiliating for me than crying into Kudo's shirt. And now that I've realized that, once aroused, Kudo's curiosity can't be stopped until it has been satisfied, I bitterly regret not having denied all allegations when Kudo used his deduction skills on me.

"... The main tenet of his life philosophy is to live happily and creatively," I blabber on in the silliest fashion I can muster, hoping that Kudo will be so revolted by my unusual chatty mood that he won't probe into me further. "It will be a real challenge to keep him for long, though, because he told me he won't marry me for fear of tying up our love with tiresome obligations and paperwork."

"He doesn't sound like the marrying type to me," Kudo remarks. Giving me a pitying look, he grimly deduces: "So he left you after only one night?"

Don't be silly, I scowl at him, my fragile ego wounded by his conviction that I must have been used and thrown away by a womanizer who got tired of me after a few hours. Everything is fine between us, I obstinately lie as I can't tell him I've already broken it off in the worst way possible without divulging an episode of my past which I'm hiding from him as well. "He worships the ground I'm walking on without smothering me. It's a pity he can't cook, but no one is perfect, after all. The only snag of this is that Shortie and Stick hate me almost as much as I hate them. But since we're going to elope, anyway, I won't have to suffer their bullying for long."

Hearing myself talk about the ambitious plan so casually, I can almost make myself believe that it could have worked if I'd had the guts to try it out. In fact, I could have persuaded him to keep our relationship secret from all his friends for years in the hope that my murky past would never catch up with me. Given time, the lie would have been forgotten and even the gravity of the offence would have expired. And for a moment I get lost in the world my own words have conjured up — that alternative universe in that other space-time dimension in which I was tough and unscrupulous enough to lie to the man I live with for a lifetime...

As I'm staring into space in an attempt to imagine a life with someone who would eat tiramisu at the crack of dawn and dance at three a.m. until hordes of reporters, paparazzi and fans force him to flee via car/boat/bike, Kudo bends forward and gingerly touches my forehead with the back of his hand as if to check my temperature.

Something is seriously wrong with me today, he asserts, and it wouldn't surprise him if my painkillers had a few very nasty side effects we both aren't aware of.

If that's the case, he must be more affected by them than I am considering how much he gobbles every day, I retort. And if he dares to belittle my painkillers again I'll take back the formula I gave him so that he can try to fight his next migraine attack with regular painkillers and find out how long it will take until he begs on his knees for either APAH or a loaded pistol or morphine.

The threat seems to have worked, as he only dares to utter a few unintelligible mumbled phrases among which I can make out "your hard work" and "not intended to." Generously accepting it as an apology, I silently pour him water into his glass, which is the nicest gesture he can expect from me in my present mood. In response, his face instantly lights up. And as he rapidly morphs from "repentant boyish Kudo Shinichi" to "smug unapologetic consulting detective," I suddenly perceive a certain similarity between him and Seiya or — to take this thought a step further — all the previous men in my life. I always fall in love with the unruly type that would destroy my hard-earned peace as if I were secretly seeking a counterpoint to my sense of order. Regrettably, one of the things my upbringing in the Organization didn't prepare me for was the fact that one needs a hobby to escape the traps of solitude.

"You didn't cry when you were shot multiple times or when you took the antidote." Kudo begins to swing his full water glass from one hand to the other, fidgeting as he always does whenever he begins to tackle a mystery. "Hence I can't buy the story that you've cried because of a migraine no matter how severe." He turns to me with narrowed eyes while I — unimpressed by his strict demeanour — quickly snatch the glass out of his hand for fear that he will get the idea to use it as a replacement for a soccer ball. "No one cries when everything is perfect." His frown deepens. "And I don't think you're so unhappy just because you've been bullied by Taiki and Yaten. I really can't make head or tail of this. What has the jerk done to you?"

Nothing I didn't want him to, I think, feeling my face heating up at the memory, and hasten to assure my overprotective detective friend once again that no one has even tried to do anything to me. Look, my life is in a glorious mess right now, I admit, but since there's nothing you can do to help me, you should keep out of it...

"If the mess has a ponytail and sings, just stop seeing him and your headaches will stop immediately," Kudo suggests with a smirk while handing me ten APAH capsules for "the next migraine."

Why are you so spiteful to him, I sigh, putting the APAH capsules into the pocket of my dress where they slip out of the hole and fall on the floor. One could almost get the impression that you're nurturing a personal grudge against him.

I've barely finished my sentence when I remember the case on my birthday two years ago, the mystery surrounding Kakyuu's death, which Kudo couldn't solve because Seiya flatly refused to cooperate.

_Misa professes her love for you through Shakespeare sonnets,_ Seiya handed his older brother the impassioned love letter which — unbeknown to him — would later become the first clue to make me suspect that he was innocent, contrary to Kudo's opinion.

_Misa... That Misa? _Yaten-san — "Shortie" — lifted his pretty head to peer over Stick's shoulder at the pale pink card, which the sophisticated recipient was reading with a frown. "How many letters has she already sent you since you gave her that private performance?"

_Hundreds — over two thousand, _was the muted reply. Despite Taiki-san's rejection, "Misa" writes him once or sometimes twice a day.

_So she is really Misa-chan, the little girl who was so sick she couldn't watch our concerts? _Turning to me, Seiya explained with a hint of sibling pride that Odango had told Taiki about the sickly girl and asked Taiki to visit her in hospital because she expressed the wish to see her beloved idol once before she died. Long story short: Taiki secretly skipped a rehearsal to give the girl on the deathbed a private performance. And nobody would have learned about it if Odango hadn't blurted it out to all her friends on the following day...

_But it seems "Misa-chan's" sickness wasn't as serious as she claimed since she obviously didn't die afterwards, _interjected Yaten-san. _And here I thought girls only take advantage of Seiya because he always shows too much sympathy for strangers._ Pleased with himself for the jibe, he flipped his well-groomed silver ponytail and shot me a malicious grin showing off his pearly white fangs without knowing that, in my eyes, he closely resembled an aggressive, jealous little kitten.

No, she was really sick, Taiki-san uneasily protested. She didn't feign it at all.

_Ah, just accept her already so that she finally stops spamming, _Shortie rolled his beautiful opal-green eyes. _The silly girls. I trash all their letters in front of them and they'll tell me I'm adorable, just imagine!_

"'Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come,"

I recite from memory.

"Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.'"

Smiling at Kudo (who is now fully convinced that I've taken complete leave of my senses), I curiously ask: "What would you think of a woman who sends you such a poem?" I carefully omit the additional information that she also sends those love letters once to twice a day for eight years because I'm not sure whether I want Kudo to reopen the old case or not.

That she's utterly besotted, Kudo says through gritted teeth, darting me an exasperated look. That she needs time and professional help to come to her senses and realize what a fool she's been!

"Don't tell me you're going to write him love poetry," he murmurs in disbelief.

"I'm flattered that you think so highly of my literary skills," I chuckle. "But those lines are actually from Shakespeare."

I think you need a rest, he eyes me warily. You're reciting Shakespeare now? This is unbelievable!

He doesn't even try to conceal that he is positive I've been brainwashed. To Kudo's credit, however, he also doesn't have the heart to tell me that he believes my gentle smiling boyfriend is a murderer and thus belongs to the category of people he considers the lowest of the low. Instead, he picks up the APAH capsules for me, throws the gyoza box at the bar a look conveying his love-hate relationship with it and exclaims with an expression of mild reproach: I'm absolutely ravenous, let's go out and grab something for lunch.

"But the gyoza—"

My half-hearted protest is cut off in mid-sentence as he leaps to his feet and reaches the bar in one stride to dump the whole gyoza box into the trash with a look of tremendous satisfaction.

"Since you said that Seiya can't cook, the gyoza must be from Taiki." Kudo stoically wipes his hands at a paper towel. "One should never eat the food prepared by people one can't stand."

He is really jealous, it hits me out of a sudden although the whole concept of him feeling possessive of me is so preposterous that I would dismiss it at once if it weren't staring me in the face as I replay the scenes since my return from my overnight rendezvous. In response to my Medusa-like stare, Kudo only smiles and hands me my cardigan he has just taken from the hook with the air of the husband who has just learned that his wife has finally found a nice babysitter for their three-year-old twin devils.

"Let's go to Furuhata's," he says. "My treat since I overslept our dinner." In a softer voice, he adds on the way to the corridor: "If everything is really fine between you two, you'll get to see him as often as you want from now on. Hence you might as well spend a few hours with me." He flashes me his most persuasive smile. "Come on."

It has always been impossible for me to resist Kudo whenever he activates his suave, smooth-talking side. Hence I wordlessly accept the cardigan — all the while trying in vain to chase away the memory of the other man who helped me into it less than three hours ago — and open the door for Kudo.

"I hope you'd have eaten the gyoza if they had been from _him_," I remark in a sharp voice as my nightly visitor passes me at the door.

"Why?" Kudo nervously rummages through the bottomless pockets of his leather jacket for his wallet and breathes a sigh of relief when he finds it. "I don't think he'd have given a hoot about whether I'd eaten them or not."

"But I do bloody well care," I insist, let the door fall shut and descend the stairs without looking at him so that he won't be able to read my thoughts. "After all, I always had to eat the food your Ran-nee-chan prepared for me as well."

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**AN: **The poem is from Shakespeare's Sonnet 116.

This was a very short chapter. But since the next chapter will be long, I decided to post this separately (before the setting changes.)

My life is busy again so that I won't be able to keep up the weekly updates although I'll still keep writing diligently. :)

In other news: Who else has problems with the e-mail alerts of this site even though they've checked their spam folders? I think I'm going to move to Archiveofourown. The more I use **Archiveofourown** dot **org**, the more I like it. (My name there is _FidgetFidgets_.) It's easy to use and lets you download the whole fic as epub- or mobi-files for your e-book reader. I also like the comment feature.

Guest: Thanks a lot for the review. I'm glad you like my little mystery. :D

lepchaun: Thanks a lot for the review. Er, I hoped Kudo would come across as adorable in his desperation and jealousy. XD And I actually didn't intend him to appear like a jerk at all (although you're probably right since you're the second reader who told me that he was mean.)


	37. Who would have thought

**Disclaimer:** "Detective Conan" belongs to Gosho Aoyama and "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" belongs to Naoko Takeuchi.

**Thanks a lot to my friends and betas Rae (Astarael00), who betaed Chapter 1-8) and SN1987a, who betaed Chapter 12-27) and the Aicoholics on LiveJournal without whom I would never have started this fic.**

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FS

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**Ghost at Twilight**

_Dedicated to June ("Teainapot"/"Juneaddams")_

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**Who would have thought...**

Who would have thought that I would run — run as if Vermouth was hard on my heels — just to answer a call from a man I had dumped a few hours ago with the words "Don't write, don't call, and don't stalk me" because "I don't want this to turn into a case of fatal attraction?" But no sooner had I heard the barely audible ringing through the closed door of my apartment than I dashed upstairs, rammed the key into the keyhole, turned it until it gave an ominous sound signalling that something was going to break if I continued the mistreatment, and hastened to my bedroom to grab the receiver.

"Let's meet up for a chat and a cup of tea," said Tenoh-san's seductively husky voice. Kaioh-san was toiling away at twenty giant seascape oil paintings for her next show. And since it had become impossible for a non-artist to breathe in such an environment, Tenoh-san had returned to Tokyo to "catch up with old friends like you."

Overcome with disappointment, I remembered that the person whose voice I had expected to hear doesn't have my number, that I'm not listed in the phone directory, and that — after such shabby treatment — no self-respecting man would even consider phoning me.

You could at least feign enthusiasm, Tenoh-san pouted. Although you pulled a fast one on me and deleted all my files, you could at least pretend to be touched by my gesture to renew acquaintance with you out of common courtesy.

Contrary to her words, she didn't sound offended. The magnificent Tenoh-sama, self-proclaimed ruler of heaven and earth, doesn't give a damn about fake politeness or common courtesy. She only teased me as she always did whenever she was in a good mood. And I wondered for the first time whether she disliked Seiya because of Kaioh-san as I had thought or whether they only clashed because they were too alike to abide each other.

"I'm so moved I can barely speak," I complied, whereupon she gave a small chuckle. Curiously enough, I realized I had missed the sound, the laugh of an acquaintance who, despite knowing what I'm capable of, still likes me enough to give me a call.

Hence I'm now perching on the edge of my bed, listening to Tenoh-san's concise summary of the last three years while a plan is forming in my mind, kindling a spark of hope which Tenoh-san, as I know her, is likely to snuff out soon.

"How's life?" she finally asks me after listing the hundred-forty-something works Kaioh-san has finished during the past years (a proof that Tenoh-san feels neglected by her life partner and is proud of her at the same time). "Has your detective come to his senses and asked you out already?"

"No." I jump from the bed and proceed to the balcony to appease Kudo, who has just thrown a few pebbles at my window in revenge for abandoning him and locking him out of my apartment. "But other men have."

Five minutes, I sign to Kudo to wait for me in front of the gate. Five, or maybe ten. I wave a hand in a gesture of uncertainty when he ruffles his hair in exasperation.

"I'm sure they have," Tenoh-san gallantly says, misapprehending my statement. "Babies stopped crying whenever you smiled. If only that had happened more often..."

"I've met someone." Since the roundabout way doesn't work, I have no choice but to spell it out for her.

"Great." Tenoh-san sounds genuinely delighted. "Your detective will be so horrified he'll propose to you by the end of this month. Sometimes we can only appreciate what we had after it's gone."

"Ah, no," I frown at the receiver. It's not a fling, I inform her. "I'm... in love, so to speak. I have all these ups and downs." I distractedly poke at my pillow a few times before I give in and bury myself up to my chin under my blanket. "And the worst thing is, I feel like expressing them."

"Is it _that_ bad?" Tenoh-san laughs. "Well, it must be if you feel like confiding in me."

"It has something to do with you, actually." I try to shake off the outrageous feeling that I am recounting my story to a girlfriend like schoolgirls suffering from a hopeless crush usually do whereas, in reality, my talkativeness with her serves a specific purpose.

"Ah, koneko-chan, you know I'm already taken."

Knowing Tenoh-san's narcissism, I suspect this was only half a joke.

No, seriously, it's just like back then in Paris with the difference that I didn't even take the antidote this time. Kudo says I'm out of my mind... I thought you could help me out a bit...

Although my dramatic tone comes across as self-mocking as intended, my voice betrays my anxiety with a quiver which Tenoh-san, alert as always, immediately detects.

"How can I help you?" she asks, stupefied, before it comes upon her in a flash of intuition: "Who is it?"

"He says he was always broke because you talked him into supporting your hare-brained schemes."

A moment of stunned silence passes until she lets out a frustrated sigh.

"There are only three men in Tokyo who are for you — under all circumstances — off limits, and you managed to fall in love with one of them. At least this is unrequited love, I suppose. In this case, it's a blessing."

Unfortunately, it is requited, I admit, which makes it much harder for me to resist temptation.

"So that's what you meant when you said other men have proposed to you. Don't tell me you've seduced the clueless kid." Tenoh-san sounds incredulous.

I wince.

"Please, don't put it that way."

"I'll take that as a yes. That's extremely bad news... I gather he has told you everything?"

"He has, but it was already too late by then."

"It's never too late to break it off," she asserts. "Just invent a plausible reason and flee as fast as you can. People have been murdered for much smaller offences."

I _have_ already fled, I tell her, one hand supporting my head and the other hand clutching the receiver. But now that it's over, I wonder whether I've done the right thing...

"You have," she reassures me. "Don't hold on to something which will never work out. This would have ended in tears, for all I know."

"How many people know about it?" I inquire, trying not to sound too eager although I'm about to snap.

"Not many," Tenoh-san coolly replies, as she has guessed my transparent intentions. "But even if I were the only one, I'd still prevent you from deceiving him."

Ironically, Tenoh-san seems to care for Seiya (who she is supposed to "hate") much more than for me. Or is it only her frank nature which objects to lies and deceit in a romantic relationship?

"You're knee-deep in this yourself," I remind her. "You can't tell him anything."

Hope, no matter how frail, is hard to extinguish once it has been fanned. From Tenoh-san's answer, I surmise that only her closest allies (only Kaioh-san and Meioh-san?) know. Kaioh-san is an incurable romantic while Meioh-san generally keeps to herself and doesn't interfere with other people's private lives. Would Seiya gladly invite me in if I just turned up on the doorstep? Certainly he'd believe me to be the most fickle woman he has ever met. But the memories of last night and this morning would still be so fresh that he would give me a second chance instead of turning me away.

She can tell him the truth and she will, Tenoh-san assures me. Nothing can happen to her except that he would hate her — what he already does, anyway. "He is a decent guy even though he is perpetually stuck in adolescence. I won't let you wreck his life in such a spectacular fashion."

"It's ironic that you're so protective of him," I observe with bitterness. "You almost behave as if you're only a good friend who doesn't have anything to do with it."

What she did, Tenoh-san claims, is not to be taken personally. Apart from that, Seiya and she are only acquaintances and colleagues. But what I'm about to do is totally wrong because one devotes a lot of time and energy to a committed couple relationship, and it would be pretty low of me to deceive him as I obviously plan to do.

"I'm not asking you for your permission." I reluctantly kick off the blanket, arduously push myself into a sitting position and slip into my sandals. "And I think I can make do without your approval."

"But you want me to look away and keep my mouth shut," she returns, "which is exactly what I'm not going to do."

As I feared, Tenoh-san is unstoppable whenever she is in her self-righteous mood. One of her few great faults is her missionary zeal for her conviction about what is "right" even if she had to step on her best friends' corpses on her way. Michiru and she had made an agreement, she once told me eight years ago when she pestered me about the key to Pandora's Box. If either of them fell behind for some reason, the other one should focus on the greater cause and move on.

"Why can't you let it rest?" I snap, hurling the pebbles on the balcony back at Kudo, who has begun to harass me with them again. "It's over now and he doesn't need to know anything about it. I'm sure we'd be deliriously happy if it weren't for this... coincidence." This twist of fate, I would have said, if I didn't deny the concept of fate in general.

Because you can't ever be happy with each other considering the circumstances, Tenoh-san gently explains. Because it doesn't matter what it could have been if it is not meant to be. We all have to live with the consequences of our actions. I'm going to put an end to it for you if you can't do it yourself. But it's better for all of us if you don't force me to burst his bubble.

Just let go of it, she advises me with the chilling cruelty of a despot who is firmly convinced that she is in the right. He will keep fond memories of you if you stay out of his life from now on. You, too, will eventually get over it. It will only hurt for a short while.

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**A.N.: **Argh, when I try to write a long chapter, it turns out short.

These days I consider leaving this site temporarily. First, I prefer Livejournal and Archiveofourown because they are so much more user-friendly. Second, in a fic like this, there are many chapters in which nothing happens because I need to insert clues. Somehow I feel guilty for the slow pace (since not only one reader has complained about it). And I understand that people lose interest when they can't make sense of the plot because it's too slow. At the same time, I don't want to change anything and rush through the fic (thanks a lot to Aya, who reminded me that I shouldn't rush). Selfish as I am, I also write for myself and as everyone has certainly noticed, I _love_ details.

A compromise seems to be to post it on sites like Livejournal and AO3 and first before posting it here after I've finished them. I'm still debating with myself.

As always, thanks a lot to everyone who reviews. At this point, you can already guess most of the mysteries apart from a few details. The fic will end in about fifteen chapters.

roxifoxi: She is more petty than she thinks. XD

Raksha: Feel free to lurk as much as you want. :)


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